The Coven
by KidKneeGirl
Summary: When Bobby asks Sam and Dean to help out an old friend, they meet a woman who not only has ties to their mother, but has a startling secret that could shatter the brothers.  Gen fic.  Post AHBL Parts 1 & 2.  Violence, some language.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – Sam, Dean and any other character(s) associated with 'Supernatural' are not mine, but they sure are fun to play with. However, C.J. Jamieson is mine. You can borrow her if you want.

A/N - This story takes place after 'All Hell Breaks Loose, Part 2.' And yes, there are serious spoilers for many of the episodes from both Season 1 and Season 2. I will try to give you warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

Also, this story is set up like an episode: teaser, enter Sam & Dean, ass whumping, ass whumping, and yes, more ass whumping, climax, wrap up.

Thanks. Peg

The Coven

Chapter 1

"I really gotta lay off the Oreos," C.J. Jamieson muttered to herself. She sagged against one of the towering oak trees, squinting in the near blackness that enveloped the woods, only her harsh gasps breaking the stillness. Above her, barely visible through the thick canopy of leaves, a small sliver of moon hung in the sky, its light weak and fragile. Her eyes burned as she sought out her prey, but the dark was all-encompassing; every shape and shadow seemed to blend together. Pushing herself away from the tree, C.J. paused a moment longer, her head tilted as she listened intently.

Nothing. Complete and utter silence surrounded her. Not even the lonesome chirps of crickets could be heard. It was eerie and ominous. Stifling the urge to swear, she took a few steps, wishing to hell she had enough sense to bring a flashlight.

"Aaaghh!" A scream rent the night, and C.J. immediately began to run towards the sound. She shoved some low-hanging pine branches out of her path, ignoring the minor scrapes the sharp needles left on her bare arms. Cursing as she stumbled over fallen trees, she forced her way through the thick undergrowth, knowing that time was most definitely not on her side. Finally, with one last push at a branch, C.J. emerged into an open field.

There. Not fifty feet ahead was her quarry, striding confidently across the meadow, the child flung over one shoulder.

"STOP!" C.J. yelled. Her voice echoed in the night and the woman – at least, it looked like a woman – slowly turned. She was clad in jeans and a tank top, her long blonde hair pulled into a knot on her head.

"You dare to interfere?" The low voice was little more than snarl, and a shiver of revulsion crawled up C.J.'s spine. She shook it off as the child whimpered, and, tightening her hands into fists, she walked towards the woman.

"Of course I 'dare to interfere,'" C.J. replied. "It is my job, after all. Let the child go, and maybe you'll get to live." Cautiously, she approached the two, her eyes never leaving the woman's face.

The woman snorted, shaking her head. "You are of my kind, huntress. Join me and I will share this one. . ." she nodded at the still-sobbing child draped over one shoulder. "We will feast on this boy's flesh, and quench our thirst with his blood, and our power will increase tenfold."

C.J. paused a few feet from the woman, shaking her head. "First of all, I am not in any way like you, witch. I only use my powers for good. And second, I already had my dinner. But, thanks for the offer." She glowered at the witch, and took another step forward. "Now. Put the boy down."

The witch returned her glare, sinister blue eyes clashing with hazel, until suddenly, she began to laugh. It started out low, just a series of barely audible giggles that built in intensity until they finally burst from her throat like a shriek. C.J. stumbled back, clamping her hands to her ears as the noise reverberated around them, the pain almost unbearable. The sound was feral and inhuman, and, for a frightening moment, C.J. wondered if her ears were bleeding. Her attention was yanked back to the witch, however, as the boy was tossed to the ground.

"If you want him. . . take him," the witch sneered. C.J. slowly lowered her hands, feeling her heart pound painfully in her chest. Her ears rang from the ungodly noise the witch had emitted, and her entire body was trembling. Still, she was here to rescue the boy, and since a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. . .

Drawing a deep breath, knowing that she was so going to regret this, she took a step forward.

That was as far as she got.

Almost immediately, the witch began to transform. As C.J. watched in disbelief, the witch's body stretched and twisted, contorting into shapes no human could withstand. Her arms grew freakishly long, her hands extending into claws, her fingernails becoming as long as daggers. Her neck stretched and cracked, and her face crumpled, the features melting into a fluid-like mass. A sickening smell of rot wafted from the witch and C.J. coughed and gagged, stepping farther away from the half-formed creature. Suddenly, there was a ripping noise, and the witch's nose reappeared, a grotesque mass of flesh in the center of her face. Strings of rancid hair emerged from her scalp, hiding the nubs that had become her ears. Scaly gray skin covered her skeletal face, pulling tight enough to tear and bleed. Eyes reappeared in the sockets, darkening to a blood-red, and as the transformation ended, the witch swung her gaze back to C.J. Slowly, she opened her mouth into a malevolent smile, revealing fangs instead of teeth.

It was hideous.

"Well, there's something you don't see every day," C.J. offered, her voice remarkably steady

The witch merely hissed, and, with unbelievable speed, launched itself at C.J. Claws dug into her side as the witch grabbed her, and, suddenly C.J. was airborne, landing hard on the ground twenty feet away. She lay there for a moment, stunned, barely able to draw a breath. A sudden sense of icy-fear, accompanied with a rotten smell, gave her warning that the witch was approaching, and she struggled to her feet.

"You will die tonight, white witch, and I will savor your flesh," the witch spat, and, despite her fear, C.J. felt a fresh burst of anger course through her.

"Yeah, well, we'll see about that," she replied. Lifting her hands, she muttered an incantation, the words flowing like water from her lips. The darkness of the night was broken as golden light burst from her palms, streaming into the creature. The witch screamed, writhing and spinning away, and, in a swirl of blackness, disappeared into the night.

"Huh." C.J. lowered her hands, but remained still, her eyes sweeping the field. The night was unnaturally silent, the stillness broken only by the whimpers of the boy. C.J. ignored him, waiting a full minute until she relaxed.

"Well, that was easy," she said to herself. Brushing her hands on her jeans, she hurried over to the boy, kneeling down to his side. "Are you. . ."

C.J.'s question was interrupted by a fierce scream, and pain suddenly ripped into her body. She twisted away, shoving the boy to the side, and raised her hands, summoning her own power. Once more, golden light shot from her palms, colliding with the dense blackness of the witch's charm. Both spells evaporated into the night, leaving C.J. panting heavily as she struggled to her feet. The witch began to chant, and black power emitted from its claw-like hands, slamming into C.J. before she had a chance to protect herself. With a yell, she was tossed backwards, her body shuddering as agonizing pain flowed through her. Without warning, the witch loomed over her, the creature's hands reaching down to grab at C.J.'s neck.

"Your power is mine," the witch growled.

Desperately, C.J. rolled away, pushing to her knees as she began her own incantation. She closed her eyes, concentrating, summoning her power from deep inside. Golden light began to flow and ripple over her body, building in intensity until C.J. shone like a beacon in the night. As the witch moved to attack, C.J. opened her eyes, and with her hands outstretched, she sent a massive bolt of power at the witch. The light encompassed the witch, surging and pulsing as it contained her, allowing C.J. to finally get to her feet. She watched as the witch screamed and writhed, clawing at itself to shake the light free.

"Time to die," C.J. said softly. She raised her hands once more, and, taking a deep breath, began to chant. The words flew from her lips, faster and faster, until they were blending into one another. Slowly, a swirling pool of fire began to gather at the witch's feet, spinning and growing as C.J. chanted. It was accompanied by a muted hum, a sound that grew into a loud roar as the pool of flame became larger and larger. The witch became frenzied, shrieking and clawing at the light, her red eyes glowing with hate.

C.J. stared at the witch, her words growing louder and stronger with each passing second.

The fiery portal grew, both in size and volume, until it was completely surrounding the screaming witch. C.J.'s voice peaked into a final shout, and as she fell to her knees, the witch was enveloped by the maelstrom, her body bursting into flames. C.J. threw up a hand as she was blasted with a wave of heat, and she wrinkled her nose as the smell of charred flesh filled the air. The fire lasted only moments; with a _whoosh_, the flames spiraled to the sky, and vanished into the night.

C.J. remained on her hands and knees for a long moment, her body shaking with fatigue. Her head pounded to the rhythm of her heart, accompanied by her heavy gasps of breath. Around her, she could hear the sounds of the night begin again, as an owl hooted softly and the crickets began to sing. Finally, still trembling, she pushed herself to her feet, ruefully fingering the torn and bloody shreds of her shirt where the witch had clawed her. Shaking her head, she staggered towards the boy, stopping at the area where the fiery whirlpool had incinerated the witch. All evidence of anything supernatural had disappeared; only some charred grass and the lingering smell of burnt flesh remained.

"Well, that was fun," C.J. whispered, and, with a sigh, she went to check on the boy.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – Since Kansas is home to Dorothy, Superman, and the Winchesters, I decided that it was the perfect place to set this story. Also, the town of Haven really exists, although it has no lake. Oh yeah, and its motto is, indeed, "Our Name Says It All." Everything else is, well, mine. Warning: spoilers for 'All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1 and 2.' Peg

The Coven

Chapter 2

Sam Winchester sighed in relief as the small sign, stating "Welcome to Haven, Kansas. Our Name Says It All" finally loomed into sight. Next to him, his hands lightly gripping the steering wheel as he drove, Dean seemed to barely notice the marker. In fact, his brother had been unusually silent for the last three hundred miles or so, their conversation limited to one-word comments about gas or snacks or rest-stops. Dean's eyes were far-away, lost in thoughts Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know. Even after Bobby's phone call, Dean didn't speak, other than to ask which highway to get on. Sam had offered to drive, wanting to give his brother a break, but Dean had only shot him a 'don't be stupid' look, and stomped on the accelerator.

"Dude, which way?" Sam jerked as Dean's voice invaded his thoughts, and he gave his brother an apologetic smile. They had rumbled to a stop sign, and Dean was eying him impatiently.

"Turn right, go through two lights, then left on to Crystal Lake Road," Sam said, peering at the paper scribbled with directions.

"Crystal Lake. Cool. Maybe we'll get to see Jason," Dean replied, and Sam shook his head in mock disgust. How Dean could joke when so much had happened. . .

Three weeks had passed since their encounter with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, and the dust was still settling. After that fateful night, Ellen had headed north, hoping to locate her missing daughter, Jo, and to notify Ashe's sister that he had been killed. Bobby had returned home, wanting to gather information on all the evil that had escaped through the doorway, and to try and make contact with any remaining hunters.

Dean and Sam had stayed with Bobby, but it soon became apparent to Sam that his brother wanted – _needed_ – to move. He had paced like a caged tiger, frustrated at their slow progress, but unwilling to page through the hundreds of supernatural tomes for clues. Finally, he had lunged out the door, declaring that he was a hunter, damn it, so he was going hunting. Sam, unwilling to leave his brother's side for even a moment, had followed, offering his apologies to Bobby even as he slid into the Impala's passenger seat. Bobby had only nodded sadly, waving his hand in farewell.

Three days ago, Bobby had called. An old friend, C.J. Jamieson, had contacted him, asking for his help. He was up to his eyebrows in research, and he was reluctant to leave, so he wondered if the Winchesters could do him a favor. . .

It had been Sam who leapt at the opportunity. Although he had been searching the 'Net for any sign of supernatural activity, all he got was a pounding headache and bleary eyes from staring at the computer screen. Everything was quiet – too quiet. There should have been a ton of activity, with all the evil that had escaped, but not a blip surfaced. As time ticked by, Sam found himself researching their old haunts, just to see if any of their old foes had returned. And with each passing day, Dean had grown more reserved, tension flowing off him in waves as they roamed from town to town.

It hadn't helped that Sam needed to talk to his brother. As much as Dean's gypsy soul needed to keep moving, Sam needed to vent, to yell and scream and shake his brother, to punish him for putting Sam into this position. Guilt and anguish vied with rage, only to be replaced with a sorrow so endless, he thought it would swallow him whole. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea without getting numb.

Dean was going to die. Worse, he was going to hell. He had made a deal with a Crossroads Demon – an apparently unbreakable bargain, read the small print, no money back guarantee here – that in return for restoring Sam to life, Dean was to hand over his life and his soul. He had been given one year – no make that 343 days – left to live, and then some black hell-hound was going collect on Dean's promise, and drag him to the darkest, bleakest, vilest corner of hell the Devil could find.

Sam desperately needed to talk. He needed to tell his brother so much. . .

But Dean didn't do 'chick-flick' moments. He didn't discuss his inner-most thoughts or emotions or, God-forbid, his impending death. Instead, he retreated into his armor of stoic sarcasm whenever he saw Sam open his mouth, cracking a joke, or, even more infuriating, ignoring him altogether.

It made for an uneasy trip.

Bobby's phone call had been a God-send, and both brothers had latched on to the idea of actually working – okay, killing some evil thing's ass, but it was work – that it barely occurred to Sam to ask Bobby what exactly they were getting into.

Bobby had hesitated, finally stating that it was better if they got the information from C.J. herself.

"There, end of the road, follow the driveway across the bridge to the house. . ." Sam paused as an old farmhouse loomed before them. He let out a low whistle as Dean parked next to a battered Camry and shut down the Impala. They both gaped at the property, taking in the house itself, the huge expanse of landscaped lawn, and a barn partially hidden behind some willow trees. In the distance, sunlight glistened on water, and Sam surmised that it was probably the aptly-named Crystal Lake.

"Nice digs," Dean said as he shoved the driver's side door open with a wrenching creak. Sam quickly followed, frowning as Dean walked to the rear of the car.

"Uh, Dean, this woman is Bobby's friend. I really don't think we need any weapons," he said.

Dean paused, meeting his brother's gaze with a sigh. "Fine. But, Sammy, you are far too trusting. Someday that's going to get you in a lot of troub. . ." Dean abruptly stopped speaking, hurrying up the gravel walkway towards the house. Sam only shut his eyes, the scar on his back seeming to burn, an image of Jake flashing before his eyes. Pushing the memory aside, he turned and followed his brother.

The house was enormous, and very old. It was two-stories tall, with old-fashioned paned windows and a tiled roof. A porch fronted the house, wrapping around the corner, charmingly decorated with rocking chairs and old milk cans. Hanging plants, sagging in the summer heat, trembled in the light breeze. A cat, as black as night, sprawled on a small chair, barely lifting an eyebrow at the brothers as they hurried up the porch steps.

"Do you hear that?" Dean asked, and Sam froze. A moment later, the delicate sound of piano music drifted out the screened door, a tune that Sam recognized.

"Mozart – I think," he stated. Dean merely grimaced, cupping one hand around his eyes as he peeked in the sidelight window.

"Yuck. I prefer the classics over classical, if you get my drif. . ." A furry face suddenly appeared in the window, and Dean let out a startled yelp. He jumped backwards, slamming into Sam and causing them both to tumble down the steps. A moment later, three dogs exploded through the screened door, barking madly, and surrounding the two.

"Nice doggy, good boy," Sam said hopefully, as he scrambled to his feet, tugging his brother up with him. A large golden retriever chuffed at him, its tail wagging furiously as he slowly stretched out an open hand. With a 'what the hell do you think you're doing' glare, Dean slapped his brother's arm, eliciting an angry growl from an even larger German shepherd. They both froze, with Dean starting his own litany of "Good doggy, good boy." He was interrupted as another dog, this one a basset hound with the longest ears Sam had ever seen, finally managed to maneuver down the porch steps. The animal plopped down beside the brothers' feet, threw its head back and began to bay.

"Gooood puppy, I've got a nice bone for the good boy. . ."

"That won't work, you know. She happens to be a girl," an amused voice called from the porch. A woman strolled down the steps, crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed the two brothers. She seemed oblivious to the racket the hound was making as she leaned against the porch railing.

"Well, I don't have all day, gentlemen. Who are you and why are you trespassing on my property?"

Sam took a step forward, garnering another menacing growl from the shepherd. He paused, feeling Dean go rigid beside him. He knew without a doubt that if the dog attacked, Dean would throw himself in front of the animal, doing everything he could to protect Sam.

It was both extremely annoying and enormously reassuring.

"C.J. Jamieson? You are C.J. Jamieson, right?" Sam asked, raising his voice to be heard over the incessant braying of the hound. The woman held his gaze for a long moment, and, with a long sigh, gave a brief nod.

"Yeah, I'm C.J. What can I do for you?" She approached the brothers, waving almost casually at the dogs. Almost immediately, the hound stopped her ear-splitting yodeling, ambling over to the woman with a yawn. The retriever bounded away, disappearing behind the house, while the shepherd gave one last growl, and returned to C.J.'s side. She bent down and gave the two animals an affectionate rub, her eyes never leaving the brothers' faces.

"Uh, we're friends of Bobby's. I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean," Sam replied. He gave her a shaky smile, nudging his brother in the ribs as he moved forward, eyeing the shepherd the whole time.

"Okay. So, you're friends of Bobby's. Why are you here?" C.J. asked.

This time it was Dean who answered. "Look, lady, Bobby called and said you were having a problem. He couldn't make it, so he asked if we could give you a hand. But, I'm thinking maybe you should just deal with your problem on your own." Dean shot her a glare, and, without meeting his brother's surprised eyes, turned to march down the gravel path.

He was stopped by the retriever, who had located a tennis ball, and now dropped it at his feet. The dog backed away, the unmistakable look of hope in its eyes. It barked and wagged its tail, dancing around in a circle, and Dean sighed.

This was so unfair.

C.J. had apparently ignored Dean's tirade, a thoughtful look on her face. "Sam. Dean. Wait! Sam and Dean. . . _Winchester?_" Her voice was tinged with horror, and Sam watched as a rapid succession of emotions flowed across her face.

Confusion.

Realization.

And fury.

"Of all the dirty, rotten. . .I'm gonna KILL him!" C.J. stomped up the stairs, followed closely by the German shepherd, swear words and promises of a very painful death flowing from her lips. The cat, which had ignored the earlier cacophony of the dogs, now shot from the chair and disappeared around the corner of the porch. With a groan, the floppy-eared hound sprawled on to the ground, lying on its side as it panted, its doleful eyes fixed on Sam.

Dean exchanged a look with his brother, shrugged, then bent and picked up the tennis ball. Throwing it far across the massive lawn, he watched as the retriever gave a happy yelp and tore away after it. 

"Well, I suppose we could wait and see if Bobby survives the ass-chewing he's about to receive," he said. He started up the porch steps, stopped, and turned to glare at his brother.

"And, Sammy, the next time I want to bring a weapon, I damn well get to bring a weapon!"

Sam only sighed, shaking his head as he bent down to rub at the hound's belly. His brother's mercurial mood swings were going to make him crazy.

"Yeah, like that would have made things any better," he whispered to the dog. The hound only groaned in pleasure, tail thumping on the ground in delight at the attention.

With a final pat, Sam stood, watching his brother's back as he mounted the steps. Squaring his own shoulders, he followed, hoping that Bobby would straighten this whole mess out.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The Coven

Chapter 3

"How in the hell could you even think to send. . . Yeah, I know I asked for your help, but instead you send me the Winches. . . Yes, it is serious, you know I wouldn't have called you if it. . . Well, do they even know about. . . Nothing? Not even about. .? What the hell am I supposed to do about. . . STOP INTERRUPTING ME!"

Dean winced as C.J.'s voice, already angry, became even more furious. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who looked extremely worried. Nervous. Almost borderline scared.

Wuss.

Dean settled his poker face into place, affecting an air of nonchalance as he eased his way through the screened door. He half-expected the German shepherd to come racing around the corner and attack, but a quick peek into the living room assured him it was empty. Flashing a confident grin at Sam, he moved further into the house, his eyes sweeping the room before him. A second later, Sam followed, pausing and holding the door open to let the floppy-eared hound scuttle in with him.

"Dean, I don't think this is such a good idea. Maybe we should come back later . . ." Sam started.

"Nah, we'll be okay. Bobby will talk some sense into her, you'll see. And if not, you can just flash those puppy eyes at her. That's bound to work, seeing as she has a thing for dogs," Dean replied. He strode lightly across a worn throw rug, pausing to run his hand across a shelf of music CDs. He bent closer, reading the titles, breaking into a grin and pulling one out.

". . . Come on, you know that isn't true. . ." C.J.'s voice had gentled, and drifted from the far-side of the house. The hound trotted towards the sound, barely giving the brothers a second glance.

There was still no sign of the shepherd.

"You know, two minutes ago, you were ready to leave, and now you want to. . .Oh, wow." Sam's voice cut off abruptly, and Dean dropped the CD, hurrying to his brother's side.

They were in the living room, which had a pair of large, comfortable couches centered in the middle of the room, a scarred, wooden coffee table positioned between them. Two hallways – one exiting from each side – led to the other portions of the house, one of which echoed with C.J.'s voice. A baby grand piano – the source of the music earlier – was at the opposite end of the room, and various lamps, tables and bookshelves littered any remaining space. A huge stone fireplace occupied one wall and was surrounded with pictures. Sam stood before one, his fingers tracing the protective glass.

"Dean, that's Mom and Dad," Sam whispered. Dean peered over his brother's shoulder, feeling his heart pound as he scanned the picture. It was their wedding picture, his mother looking gorgeous and happy in a white gown. His dad - God, was he ever that young? - was in a tuxedo, looking proud and madly in love. Both were smiling at the camera, their eyes seeming to reach out and pierce Dean to the core.

He glanced over at his brother. Sam looked enthralled – as he always did whenever he saw a picture of his mother. Dean knew that it was different for Sam; his brother had no real memory of their mother, only pieces of what Dean and their father had shared with him over the years. For Sam, their mother was almost a fictional figure, a person who was important, who had loved him, cared for him, but who had never really existed for him. When Mary died, Sam had lost his mother, but his loss was vastly different from Dean's.

Because Dean remembered. Dean knew what it was like to be cuddled and tickled, to be held and rocked, to be teased and soothed. He could still remember the scent of her hair when she picked him up for a hug; he could feel her touch as she bandaged up a bloody knee. His mother had been real and warm and so very beautiful. . .

And now, both his parents were dead. It was just Sam and him, and goddammit, he had lost Sam, let that bastard Jake stab him, hurt him, _kill_ him. . .

"Dean? You okay?" Sam's worried tone made Dean glance up, and he gave a shrug. He quickly moved away, struggling to contain his reaction, to keep all his emotions under control.

A low growl of warning stopped him in his tracks.

"Well, why don't you boys just make yourselves to home?" C.J.'s voice dripped with sarcasm, and Dean felt anger flash through him. He remained still, though, one eye on the dog, and the other on the woman.

She moved forward, into the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and paused, her face uncertain. Dean remained silent, his eyes studying her intently.

She was small, petite, her head barely reaching his shoulder. Her hair was light brown, cut in a shoulder-length bob. Her face was pixie-like, with wide, hazel eyes, a smallish nose, and a firm mouth. Fine lines radiated from the corners of her eyes, revealing her age to be older than what Dean originally thought. She was attractive, even pretty, if you were in to a Mrs. Robinson kind of thing.

It was Sam who broke the silence. "Look, we're sorry for all the confusion. But, we came here to help you." He held out his hands as he spoke, offering her his best 'I am so sincere' smile. Dean only smirked, watching his younger brother work his mojo on the woman.

It was really no contest.

C.J. Jamieson ran one hand through her hair, her shoulders drooping, and Dean knew victory was theirs. She sagged on to the closest couch, rubbing at the head of the shepherd, her eyes traveling over Sam and Dean, her gaze seeming to linger on Dean.

"Okay, Sam and Dean. Let's try this again," she said softly. She gestured towards the opposite couch, and Sam quickly scurried over to take seat. Dean moved more slowly, taking his time, his gaze focused on the woman. He eased down next to his brother, leaning forward and flashing C.J. his most charming smile. She snorted, shaking her head.

"Man, I should have seen it right away. You're just like your old man," she said. She leaned back against the couch, studying the two brothers, her gaze thoughtful.

"So, you two are here to help me," she mumbled, and Sam gave her an eager nod. Dean remained silent, watching as C.J. ran one hand through her hair, releasing a slow sigh. The only sounds were the soft ticking of a clock and the snuffling of the hound as it waddled over to Sam, flopping down at his feet.

C.J. leaned forward, piercing both brothers with a stare.

"Tell me - what do you two Winchesters know about witches?" she asked.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – All witch folklore comes from my imagination only. Also, there are spoilers for 'Something Wicked' and 'All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1 and 2.' Thanks. Peg

The Coven

Chapter 4

Three figures marched through the woods, flashlights piercing the darkness. C.J. led the way, followed closely by Dean. Sam trailed along behind, his mind swirling with the information C.J. had shared with them earlier that evening. Her knowledge had been eye-opening, to say the least.

Witches. A shiver ran down Sam's spine at the thought of the nasty creatures. In his whole life, he had only dealt with a witch twice; well, once really. The first time he was just a kid - and the intended victim. It just happened to be the same witch both times. A shtriga. He and Dean had finally killed it last year, but it had been a terrifying battle.

He shoved the memory to the back of his mind, focusing instead on following his brother and the enigmatic woman who led the way. They were going to the last place C.J. had encountered – and killed – a witch, a notoriously difficult thing to do. The fact that she had accomplished the deed spoke volumes about her abilities as a hunter.

Sam skirted a log, his mind preoccupied with the brief history lesson C.J. had imparted after her initial question.

"_Tell me – what do you two Winchesters know about witches?" _

_Both brothers glanced at each other, their minds going back to the shtriga. Sam shrugged and Dean nodded. He would take the lead on this._

"_Actually, not a whole lot," he answered. "We tangled with a shtriga a little while back, but other than that, we've always tended to avoid them."_

_C.J. nodded, getting up to let the retriever into the room. "Hey, Emmie, did someone throw the ball for you? That's my girl," she said to the dog. Emmie merely wagged her tail in reply, trotted over to Dean, and settled at his feet._

"_I suppose before we get started, introductions should be made," C.J. said. "That's Emmie. . ." she said needlessly,". . .and this is Dutchess. . ." she petted the shepherd's head,". . .and the little dog with the big voice is Jasmine." At the sound of her name, the hound began to thwack her tail against the floor. "The cat is P. Diddy Kitty." _

_Sam hid a smile as Dean mouthed, "P. Diddy Kitty?" and rolled his eyes._

_C.J. settled back on the couch, her fingers toying with the seam of the fabric. "A shtriga, huh? Well, I guess you can call that a witch. Just the one?"_

_Dean's brow furrowed. "Yeah. Whenever we came across a witch, Dad would give Bobby a call. We would never really do anything about it. I guess it never occurred to me that it was weird, always avoiding them, letting Bobby handle. . ." his voice trailed away, and Sam finished his thought._

"_Bobby didn't deal with the witches, did he?" he asked._

_C.J. only shook her head. "I suppose I better start at the beginning, just so you know what we're up against." She closed her eyes, seeming to gather her thoughts. _

"_First of all, forget the folklore. While some of it is based on truth, most of it is completely off base. A witch – at least a true black witch – is a horrid creature, neither male nor female, although it will take on a human form when necessary. And unlike werewolves or vampires, which feed on humans due to hunger, witches feed to absorb a person's energy, or soul. They prefer killing young children – who have strong, innocent souls - for just that purpose." _

"_Wait," Sam interrupted. "You said a black witch? Does that mean that there really are white witches?"_

"_Yes," C.J. said, her eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. "There are white witches, although they are few in number. But, I'll get to that later." She waved one hand, dismissing the idea, and quickly returned to her subject._

"_A true black witch lives in cycles; it will awaken every twenty or thirty years to feed, voraciously, and then hibernate, living off all the energy from its kills. Luckily, most black witches roaming around today are half-breeds, stuck in their human form and not very powerful."_

"_Not very powerful?" Dean asked. "Then why did my Dad leave the witch killing to. . ."_

"_To me?" C.J. finished. "Let's just say that your Dad had his reasons and leave it at that," she answered cryptically. She held Dean's glare, unfazed by the look of distrust on his face._

"_What's a half-breed?" Sam asked._

_C.J. glanced away from Dean, focusing on Sam and giving him a small smile. "A half-breed is a black witch, but due to thinned blood lines, it has lost many of its powers. Most of them can't hibernate, at least over long periods of time, and their supernatural capabilities are limited, although they still are extremely dangerous. Half-breeds remain in human form, which reduces their abilities even more."_

_C.J. paused for a long moment. "Despite all the myths, witches – black or white - don't need eye of newt or dried bat wings to cast a spell; all its spell-making capabilities are from genetic memory. Their power comes from their bloodlines, from within themselves." _

_Sam and Dean mulled that over for a minute, Sam's face thoughtful. He raised his eyes as C.J. spoke again. _

"_You both have heard the term 'witches coven,' right? Well, it's not group of witches who get together and have a party, so to speak. A coven is a gathering of black witches, called together by a true, full-blooded black witch. This witch is extremely powerful, able to transform at will, and nearly impossible to destroy. The lesser witches bring human offerings and sacrifices to this witch, hoping to become a part of her coven. On the night of a full moon, when all the sacrifices are made, and the black witch has reached her full level of power, the entire coven goes on a rampage of killing and destruction."_

_Silence filled the room. Dean was staring at C.J., and Sam wondered what was spinning through his brother's mind. His own thoughts were alternately fascinated and repulsed by this new-found knowledge._

"_Now, a coven doesn't happen a lot. A full-blooded black witch is a rare thing. In fact, I have never actually heard of a coven congregating since the mid-nineteenth century. But, about a month ago, something happened, something so huge that the witches seem to be gathering, getting ready to have a coven. . ." _

_C.J. stopped speaking as Dean lunged to his feet, pacing to the end of the room, pausing to cast his eye on the picture of his parents. Sam sagged back against the couch, his hands rubbing his eyes as the image of demons and ghosts flying from the doorway filled his mind. _

"_We did it," he whispered. _

"_No." Dean stood rigid, his hands fisted at his sides. "Jake and that Yellow-Eyed bastard did it, Sammy. They opened the portal, not us."_

_Sam felt C.J.'s penetrating gaze sweep over him, her eyes shifting to stare at Dean in puzzlement._

"_Okay, guys, what do you two know about this?" she demanded._

_Haltingly, carefully omitting any mention of Crossroads Demons and life-ending deals, Sam filled her in on the events of that night, culminating with the release of God-knew how many evil-beings from the portal. As he spoke, Dean paced agitatedly, running his hand through his hair, only offering a spare comment or two._

"_Well, I guess that explains things," C.J. commented when Sam finished speaking. Dean took a seat next to his brother, absentmindedly petting Emmie. _

"_What do you mean?" Sam asked. _

"_The witch I killed last week was no ordinary witch. She – and I use the term 'she' loosely here – was extremely powerful, capable of full-transformation. I almost . . .well, never mind that. Anyway, this is bad. This is very very bad," C.J. replied._

_She stood up, and began her own frenzied pacing, her words spilling from her lips. "I thought that it was strange that she was taking the child with her, but now it makes sense. The kid was an offering. So a full-blooded black witch must have escaped from your portal. The question is: where is it hiding?" _

_She stopped her pacing, her hazel eyes going wide. Sam stared at her, frowning as her eyes reminded him of someone. Suddenly, he remembered the picture on the wall._

"_I don't mean to change the subject, but exactly how do you know our parents?" Sam asked. Dean tensed beside him, but gazed at C.J. expectantly. _

_C.J. flashed him a warm smile. "Mary – your mom – and I were best friends. We grew up together," she said. Her eyes grew distant, and she walked over to the wedding photo. Mimicking Sam's caress earlier, she traced the picture with her fingertips. "Until your father came along, she and I were inseparable. Like sisters, I guess."_

_She turned to Sam and Dean, her face drawn. "About your dad – I was really sorry to hear he died. He . . .well, he made your mom very happy, I know that. And he loved you both very much." She turned back to the picture, her gaze tender and sad and a million miles away. Sam glanced at Dean, surprised at the vulnerability in his brother's eyes._

_Dean caught his stare, and immediately his eyes became shuttered, his face blank. Sam felt the familiar frustration creep in, but he was prevented from commenting when C.J. spun around, a wicked smile on her lips._

"_You guys feel like a little reconnaissance tonight?"_

"Sam! Come on, keep up!" Dean's voice was a harsh whisper, and Sam shook his head in exasperation. Man, his brother loved to give orders. A little voice inside his head said, 'Not for much longer,' and Sam quickly pushed it away. Since meeting C.J., it seemed neither he nor Dean had time to think about demons or deals, and that suited Sam just fine. Maybe Dean was right; a hunt might be just the thing they needed.

He quickened his pace, emerging from the woods into a grassy meadow. Last week, C.J. had killed a witch here, although she had been rather vague about the weapons she had used. When Dean had brought up consecrated iron – the method the brothers used to kill the shtriga – she had shrugged, saying that was one way to go.

"Right here. She was heading west," C.J. said as she paused by some dead grass, and Sam watched as his brother knelt down, running the charred soil through his fingers.

"What did you use – a flame-thrower?" he asked, his tone half-joking. He brushed his hands off, standing and swinging his flashlight beam across the meadow. C.J. was turning in a slow circle, her face screwed up in concentration.

"So, where do you think she was going?" Dean asked, nonplussed by the frown C.J. shot in his direction. He was answered with a shrug.

"I honestly don't know. I suppose we could head west, and see if there is something significant in that direction. . ." C.J. trailed off, her eyes searching the grassy field.

Suddenly, Dean froze, pulling out his shotgun, checking the chamber and slowly scanning the shadowy meadow. Sam immediately mimicked his brother's actions, his own weapon out and ready.

"Dean?" Sam whispered harshly. His brother motioned for silence, his entire body tense.

C.J. had joined them, and now the three stood still, listening intently. Not a sound echoed across the expanse, not even the wind. It was as quiet as a crypt.

Too quiet.

"RUN!" C.J. barked, one hand shoving at Dean. He balked, opening his mouth to fire off a retort, but any sound he made was drowned out by a hideous scream.

From out of the darkness, someone – something - came hurtling towards the three. Sam yanked at Dean, dragging his brother out of harm's way, and they both fell to the ground. From the corner of his eye, Sam could see C.J. fall as well, the small woman lost in the tall grass. A sickening smell of rotten meat wafted over them as the creature – a half-breed witch still in human form - passed, and both brothers gagged and coughed.

Dean scrambled to his feet, his gun in his hands, but the witch moved with lightening speed, this time coming at him with a blast of dark energy. As Dean raised the weapon and fired, Sam watched in horror as his brother was hit by the black power and thrown backwards, landing hard in the dense brush. Almost immediately, the witch was on him, darkness spewing from her hands and into his brother's chest. Dean's screams of pain and the witch's laughter echoed across the field, making Sam's blood run cold. He reacted immediately, running towards his brother, raising his gun and taking aim at the black shadow of the witch. She spun towards him, her face half-transformed, part human and part sickening creature, and unbelievably hideous, caught in the half-moon light. With a roar, he blasted her right in the chest.

It didn't even slow her down. A moment later, impenetrable blackness surrounded Sam, along with excruciating pain. He cried out, falling to his knees and dropping his gun, feeling like he was being torn in half. He gasped and choked, his lungs straining as they fought for air. His vision faded, and the thought that he was dying – again – flashed through his mind.

Suddenly, a burst of golden light filled the air, and the witch spun away with an angry scream. Free of the witch's spell, Sam coughed and shook, his entire body trembling. He could vaguely sense Dean next to him, his brother's voice asking if he was okay, but he was still too rattled to answer.

"Come on, Sam. We've got to move," Dean insisted, and Sam nodded, forcing himself to his feet. He raised his head, just in time to see the witch launch itself at C.J., a jet of blackness spewing from its hands. To his amazement, C.J. raised her hands, and a dazzling golden light emitted from them, shielding the woman from the witch's assault.

The shrieking witch was knocked backwards, disappearing into the night.

Sam stared in bewilderment at C.J., his mind refusing to accept what he had just seen. His brother tugged at his arm, Dean's eyes constantly sweeping the meadow.

"BEHIND YOU!" C.J. called, and Sam felt Dean move, his brother spinning around, his gun coming up. Sam wanted to tell him it wouldn't work, but Dean fired before he even had a chance to open his mouth.

This time the shot did slow the witch down, but only for a second. Sam could hear Dean's ragged breathing as his brother fought to reload the shotgun, but he knew it would be too late. Unarmed, Sam staggered in front of Dean, hoping to buy his brother a little more time.

This time, instead of using dark magic, the witch raked his side with her claw-like nails, slicing through his shirt and drawing blood. Sam let out a pain-filled shout, falling to the ground. He heard the shotgun blast once more, and the witch screamed in anger and pain. Sam raised himself up on one hand, watching helplessly as she moved to strike Dean, her eyes glowing red in the dark, hate and anger in their depths.

Once more, golden light broke the darkness, surrounding both brothers, blocking them from the witch's attack. C.J. moved towards them, her lips moving as she chanted, her eyes focused on the witch. With a sharp jerk of her hand, she sent a burst of power into the witch, making the creature howl with pain.

"Dean, shoot the damn thing," C.J. said, her voice strained. "Aim for the head," she added.

Dean raised his gun, and the night echoed with the blast. The witch collapsed in a heap, her body dissipating into the air, leaving behind nothing more than a pile of rancid clothes stained with flesh and blood.

Slowly, C.J. lowered her hands, a long breath expelling from her lungs. She bent forward, resting her hands on her knees and shutting her eyes.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked as he crouched down. Sam only nodded, grimacing at the pain in his side. He struggled to his feet, assisted by his brother's hand on his elbow, and the two of them made their way over to C.J.

Dean's face had grown stone-cold, and, as he stopped just feet from C.J., he lifted the barrel of the shotgun, aiming it at her head.

"Okay, lady, you've got one minute to explain yourself, and then I'm going to blow you to hell," he said, his voice lethal.

C.J. slowly straightened up, her face a combination of pain and weariness.

"Why, Dean Winchester, I thought you would have guessed it by now," she answered.

She rubbed the small of her back, wincing at the ache in her spine. She met his gaze, grimacing at the look of comprehension in his eyes.

"You're a white witch," Dean said softly. Almost reluctantly, he lowered the muzzle of the gun.

C.J. only nodded, bending down to grab her flashlight. She groaned, shaking her head.

"Yeah, I'm a white witch. One who's getting too old for this crap," she muttered. She waved her hand towards the woods, her face concerned.

"Come on, we've got to go. You can kill me when we get home." Without another word, she turned, once more leading the way.

Dean remained motionless for a long moment, watching as she disappeared into the trees.

"Dean? You're not really gonna kill her, are you?" Sam asked. Dean's face was expressionless; only his eyes betrayed his uneasiness. Finally, he took his Sam's arm, offering support as they plodded after the woman.

"I haven't decided yet," was his soft answer.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

The Coven

Chapter 5

The ride home was steeped in silence. C.J. had driven, opting for an old, beat-up Ford Bronco that had been hidden in the barn. Sam sprawled on the back seat, his eyes shut, and one arm wrapped around his injured side. Dean thought he might be sleeping, but whenever C.J. hit an especially rough patch of road, Sam would moan, his face wrinkling into a wince.

Dean slouched in the passenger seat, his eyes focused out the window, staring into the impenetrable dark. His mind reeled, scarcely believing what had just transpired.

C.J. was a witch! Okay, yeah, a white witch, but still. . .every fiber of his being screamed for him to raise his gun and blow her to smithereens. Since he was a boy of four, his father had drilled 'kill all things that are non-human' into his head, and a witch certainly wasn't human.

Still, she had saved them both, and more than once. Dean swallowed as he remembered the soul-shattering pain that had coursed through him when the witch – the bad-ass one – had blasted him with that black energy. No wonder his father had turned any witch sightings over to someone else; holy water and salt was no match for that kind of power.

He glanced up as they rattled over the bridge and parked. A moment later, the Bronco coughed once and died. C.J. didn't say anything, just pushed open the door, slamming it shut and plodding up the walkway.

"Sammy, you awake?" Dean asked. He leaned back, giving his brother's knee a light shake.

A light moan met his ears, and Dean frowned. Sam had barely recovered from his encounter with Jake, and now he was wounded again. Silently vowing that even if he didn't kill C.J., they were at least going to move on, and get clear of her and her witch problem. Maybe take that vacation that he had been babbling about a few months ago.

"Dean, promise me that you won't hurt her," a soft voice whispered from the dark.

Dean only sighed, opening the truck's door to slide out and tipping the passenger seat forward. A moment later, Sam eased out of the truck, his back braced against the cab.

"I can't do that, Sammy, and you know it," Dean replied. He slammed the door, took his brother's elbow, and slowly guided him up the walkway. They staggered into the house, which was glowing with warm light. Two of the dogs – Emmie and Jasmine – met them in the living room, whining a greeting and wagging their tails.

"Sam, I've started a shower for you," C.J. said as she came from the hallway. "Here – I have some clothes that might fit you. . ." She was interrupted by Dean, who sent her a scathing look.

"You know, we have clothes in the car. And there's a little matter of your witchiness that we need to address. . ."

C.J. broke into Dean's rant, sending him a glare that eerily matched his. "Look, Dean, that clawing he got from the witch will fester, and he'll die. I can treat it, but first, he needs to clean up. You should, as well. Humans who come into physical contact with a black witch – even a half-breed - have been known to get sick and die, usually in very unpleasant ways."

She motioned to Sam, who only nodded, and limped down the hallway towards the sound of running water. Dean held his tongue, wanting to confront C.J. immediately, but his fear of Sam dying (_again_) kept him silent. Instead, he stalked out the door, slamming the screened door behind him. A moment later, Emmie nosed her way out the door, her tail wagging as she followed Dean.

"Sheesh, what a hard-ass," C.J. muttered.

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An hour later, the three hunters sat on the living room couches, the coffee table littered with food. All three had showered, and raided the icebox, and now Sam was almost relaxed, sipping at a beer, his eyes wandering the living room. The clock on the mantle chimed; it was only ten-thirty, but it felt much later.

C.J. had treated Sam's side with alcohol – which burned like hell – and a strange concoction she claimed was a family remedy. Dean's face had soured at her words, but as soon as she had applied the salve, Sam's fiery side had cooled and calmed. Now, all the pain had disappeared, and the only thing Sam felt was tired.

And concerned. He could tell from Dean's rigid back that his brother still did not trust C.J. To Dean, it did not matter that C.J. claimed to be a white witch; to him, any witch was evil. Cut and dry, no ifs, ands or buts about it.

Sam set his beer down on the coffee table, easing back into the cushions. He longed to close his eyes, to get some much-needed sleep, but apparently, he was to be the mediator in this discussion. He almost snorted in amusement; it had always been Dean who was the peacemaker between Sam and their father, sometimes stepping between the two of them to prevent the fists from flying. Dean and his father had almost never fought; for Sam and John, barely an hour would pass before they were arguing again.

Now, though, the tables were turned, and it was Sam's duty to keep Dean from pulling out his gun and shooting C.J. Not that she would let that happen, Sam mused. Her power was extraordinary, and a mere shotgun was probably childs-play for her.

C.J. settled back against the couch, looking tired and drawn. Her gaze flicked over the brothers, lingering for a long moment on Dean, her eyes unreadable. Her fingers gently stroked Dutchess' head, the dog having taken her position at C.J.'s side. Finally, C.J. broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Okay, Dean, are you going to let me explain, or should we just start killing each other now?" she asked, her words deceptively casual. Her eyes betrayed her tension, though, as they met Dean's across the room.

Dean's steely gaze flicked over her face, and Sam knew his brother was deciding whether he could trust her. Finally, after glancing at the picture of their parents hanging next to the fireplace, Dean gave a short nod.

"Fine. Explain," he said shortly.

"Fine," C.J. spat back, and Sam felt his lips twitch. If the situation wasn't so serious, the antics of the two of them would be amusing.

"All witches are born, not made. You don't get bitten by a witch and turn into one, like a vampire or a werewolf." C.J. began. "The difference is that a white witch is descended from a joining between a human and a white witch, or between two white witches. A black witch results from a union between two black witches."

Sam sat forward, reaching down to rub Jasmine's belly. "So, one of your parents was a witch?" he asked. Dean remained silent, his gaze never leaving C.J.'s face.

"Actually, both my parents were white witches," C.J. answered. "And they both were hunters, like your dad."

Sam mulled this over, vaguely wondering what it would be like to have two parents that were – for all intents and purposes – not human. It was creepy – and fascinating.

"Because both my parents were witches, I have a few more abilities than most white witches. And, like you two, I was trained by my parents to hunt down and kill evil, specifically black witches. I was also taught to use my power only for good; to heal, or to protect," C.J. explained.

"So you claim," Dean snapped. C.J. flashed him a white-hot glare, and Sam quickly leaned forward, hoping to ward off any hostilities.

It was too late.

C.J. sprang to her feet, annoyance and anger on her features.

"Look, Dean, I saved your ass out there tonight! Twice! And I don't recall using my power on you at all! So you can take all your hunter prejudice and your snide remarks and shove them right up your. . ."

"Lady, I don't give a crap what you did! For all I know, you're one of the bad guys, sent to lure us into a trap. . ."

"Bad guys? How old are you – twelve? I called Bobby and asked for his help! If I was a bad guy, why would I do that, genius? Not to mention that I've bailed your Dad out more times than I can remember, not that he ever thanked me for it!

"Well, maybe you're an imposter, taking the form of this C.J. person. Maybe you're really a black witch, or even a demon in disguise! Sam, quick, go and get the holy water while I hold her down!"

"My God, and I though John was paranoid! You know what? You both can just get the hell out of my house right. . ."

"STOP IT!" Sam bellowed. He has risen to his feet, using his body to prevent his brother from launching himself at the furious woman. Dean was utterly pissed, trying to shove Sam out of his way. C.J. wasn't much better, her hands fisted at her sides, her hazel eyes almost sparking with anger.

"So help me God, Dean, if you don't sit down right now I'm gonna let her take a swing at you," Sam warned through clenched teeth. He shoved his brother back down on to the couch, freezing him with a glare. Dean stared back sullenly, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

"I could be right, you know!" Dean barked.

"When pigs fly," was C.J.'s sarcastic response.

"Enough!" Sam cried, feeling a headache coming on. Is this what he and his father had sounded like? He fought the urge to cringe at the memories, instead swinging around to check on C.J.

She had re-taken her seat, calming Dutchess, who was growling low in her throat. She was shaking, and anger still glowed in her eyes, but, thankfully, she had more control than Dean.

Which was weird. Usually, Dean was the epitome of cool and collected. Tonight must have really freaked his brother out.

"Okay. Good. Now, C.J., just for the record, are you by any chance a black witch or a demon or any other evil entity? Do I need to get the holy water?" Sam asked, doing his best to lighten the mood. He sagged back on to the couch, clasping one hand on Dean's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Dean responded with a shrug and a muffled grunt, his composure somewhat restored.

C.J. snorted. "If I was, I sure wouldn't have let Einstein over there live very long. God, what a jerk."

"Bitch," Dean responded, and Sam made a sound of disgust in his throat. For crying out loud. . .

"Can you two please just try and get along? There are bigger things to worry about, or have you forgotten?" Sam pleaded. He watched as Dean nodded reluctantly, a motion mirrored by C.J.

"C.J., you said that the witches were going to get together, to have a coven," Sam said. He had decided to leave the whole 'white witch-black witch' debate behind, and get on to the matter at hand. Thankfully, both Dean and C.J. followed his lead, although Sam could feel the air crackle with a lingering tension.

"Yes, I'm sure of it. I'm guessing here, but I'm thinking that a full-blooded black witch escaped from your portal, and the first thing it wants to do is have a gathering. It's going to be looking for the strongest, most vile black witches around," she said. "A coven would draw the evil to it, where it could pick and choose from the lot."

Sam closed his eyes at the memory of the half-transformed black witch, her face misshapen and grotesque, her eyes a horrid red, the stench of death surrounding her. He had seen plenty of disgusting, evil creatures – werewolves, vampires, demons of all shapes and sizes – but the witches were especially hideous. The thought that his brother would be imprisoned with such beings, tortured and suffering and bleeding, for eternity – made him dizzy and nauseous.

"Sammy? You okay?" Dean had leaned forward, concern etched on his features, and Sam managed to nod. He shoved the foul image to the back of his mind, silently reaffirming that once they were done here, he would find a way to free his brother from the Crossroads Demon's deal.

C.J. let out a long sigh, rubbing at her head. "Look, I know we haven't resolved anything, but we're all tired. I honestly don't think the coven will happen tonight; folklore got the full moon part right, and that's not for two more days." She paused, carefully eyeing Dean. "I know you don't trust me, Dean, but you both are welcome to stay here tonight. In the morning, you guys can decide if you're going to stay and help me, or move on."

Sam peered at the woman, seeing the lines of fatigue encircling her eyes and mouth. Just last week she had fought another witch – alone – and for her to do battle again so soon probably hadn't done her any good.

"And if he really wants to, Dean can toss all the holy water he wants on me," she added with a wicked grin.

Dean only snorted. "Don't think I won't," he said. He exchanged a quick look with Sam, and sighed.

"Fine. We're staying the night. We'll see what happens in the morning," Dean said. C.J. only nodded in reply, rising to her feet and heading down the hallway. A second later, the two brothers could hear her footsteps on the stairs.

"Are you sure you want to stay here, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean's eyes were shadowed as he shrugged. He let out another sigh, rising to his feet, and wandering over to the picture of their parents. Although it only lasted a moment, Sam was startled to see weariness and sadness flash over his brother's face as he stared at their image.

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean answered. He watched as Sam rose to his feet, carefully skirting the sleeping hound.

"Just do me a favor, and sleep with one eye open, okay?"

TBC

A/N – The author apologizes profusely for the lame ending to this chapter, but, at the time, it was the best I could come up with. So sorry. Peg


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Exposition, exposition, exposition! Sorry that there is no real action in this chapter, but it was necessary for the story. So, there's lot of talking and explaining. Just please bear with me. Also, there are spoilers for 'Faith,' 'Route 666,' 'In My Time of Dying' and, as always, 'AHBL P1&2'. Thanks. Peg

The Coven

Chapter 6

C.J. padded down the hallway, easily finding her way in the dark. The woman paused outside of Sam's door, listening for the soft moans. As another sound of distress reached her ears, she sighed, and quietly pushed open his door.

Jasmine lifted her head, greeting C.J. with a muffled _woof_. C.J. shushed the dog, circling around the bed, and leaning over the sleeping Winchester. She could see the beads of sweat that coated his skin, and she frowned at the bedcovers shoved into a ball at his feet. As she watched, Sam jerked, his face grimacing, his body thrashing at some unseen foe. Carefully, she eased on to the bed, reaching out one hand to caress his brow.

The golden light that had protected Sam earlier now emanated from her hand, and, with softly spoken words, C.J. soothed Sam's troubled mind. Slowly, the tension eased from his face, and his breathing became deep and regular. C.J. removed her hand, brushing at a lock of his unruly brown hair.

She stared at his handsome face, seeing John in every curve. Sam was like his dad in many ways: his height, the dark hair, the tendency to argue about every little thing. But, despite all that he had seen and done, there was still an air of innocence to the younger Winchester, a willingness to trust that had been missing from John for a long time. Sam was compassionate and honest, untouched by the cynicism that life as a hunter wrought.

C.J. eyed Sam, satisfied that he would sleep through the rest of the night untroubled by bad dreams and horrible memories. She tugged the sheet over him and rose to her feet, pausing long enough to pat Jasmine on the head, and slipped out the door.

She walked across the hallway, easing into Dean's room. She stepped over Emmie, whispering a greeting to the dog as she reached the side of the bed. Like his brother, Dean was sleeping restlessly, his body twitching and trembling, his face tightening at some hidden danger.

C.J. leaned over Dean, unconsciously comparing the eldest Winchester to his father. Physically there was little resemblance; it was in the suspicious attitude and his fierce protective nature that Dean's kinship to John was revealed. Dean was a hunter, born and bred, and C.J. felt her heart break at the thought. She reached down, caressing Dean's temple, the golden light flowing from her fingers. Like Sam, Dean's restless sleep eased, and the lines of worry on his brow disappeared.

C.J. carefully stepped back, wondering how many secrets she would have to reveal in the next few days. John Winchester had kept many things from his children, hoping that the truth would never have to be uncovered. But now, he was dead, along with Mary, and only C.J. and Bobby were left to keep the secrets.

Secrets that could shatter the two sleeping brothers.

C.J. stifled a sigh, vowing to keep her promise, and doing whatever it took to prevent Sam and Dean from experiencing any more pain. She took one last look at Dean, remembering his accusing words earlier in the evening, and felt a smile pull at her lips.

Like father, like son.

Exhausted, C.J. turned and quietly left the room, carefully shutting the door behind her.

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Dean wandered down the staircase, clad in his jeans and an "Ozzy Rules the Underworld" T-shirt. He yawned, but he wasn't tired; for the first time in a long time, he had slept through the night, ignoring his own advice to Sam to stay alert. Apparently his need for rest had overwhelmed any disturbing memories or nightmares. He strolled barefoot into the kitchen, eyeing C.J. warily. He still had his reservations about the woman – the witch – the witchy woman – whatever – but he was willing to set them aside for the moment.

Apparently, so was she. Any leftover tension from last night's fight had dissipated, replaced by C.J.'s warm smile of greeting. "Good morning," she said.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, drifting towards the counter. In response, she slid a fresh cup of coffee over to him. He smiled his thanks, taking a sip and moaning in appreciation.

"Man, that is good coffee," he said, and she nodded. He watched as she scrambled some eggs in a bowl, humming lightly under her breath. The cat, P. Diddy Kitty, sat at her feet and meowed impatiently, apparently wanting his share of the eggs.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, his senses going on alert. It was almost ten in the morning, and Sam rarely slept in. Dean had peeked into his brother's room as he had walked by, and sure enough, the bed had been rumpled and empty.

"He went down to the lake, probably on to the dock." She motioned with her elbow, pointing out the French doors. She set the bowl down, filling another cup with coffee, and adding some milk. "Here, take this down to him."

Dean accepted the cup, trying not to spill the hot liquid as he eased out the doors.

"Bacon and eggs in about ten minutes, okay?" C.J. called after him, and Dean nodded, his eyes searching for his brother as he picked his way across the lawn. The grass felt cool under his bare feet, and a light breeze ruffled his short hair. Unconsciously, he started humming a tune, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face.

He followed a worn path, finally spotting Sam on an old wooden dock, his brother standing and staring out at the water. Jasmine lounged at his feet, while Dutchess sat at attention. There was no sign of Emmie.

"Hey," Dean said, sidling up to his brother and handing him the coffee. Sam accepted it with a grin, taking a small sip.

"Hey," Sam replied. "This is nice," he added, motioning at the view that stretched before them. The morning sun glittered on the water, and, off in the distance, sailboats sporting multicolored sails drifted to and fro. There appeared to be no other houses nearby, even on the opposite shore. Only a few buzzing insects and some ducks fishing in the shallows broke the silence.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I could get used to this." He started to take another sip of coffee, but was startled when a dripping wet Emmie came bounding down the dock, a stick in her mouth.

Sam reached down and took the stick, throwing it far across the lake. Without hesitating, Emmie leapt into the water, swimming furiously towards the floating branch.

"Cool," Dean said.

The brothers stood silent, each lost in his own thoughts, sipping at their coffee and watching the dog retrieve the stick and paddle back towards land.

"How do you feel?" Dean asked, setting his now-empty mug on the battered dock. He swung his full attention to Sam, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort. He was pleased to see that his brother looked fully rested, his fluid movements indicating that the wound inflicted by the black witch didn't seem to bother him.

Sam only sighed. "I'm fine, Dean. It's only a scratch." He rubbed lightly at his side, surprised at how well the injury was healing.

"Yeah, well, the next time you step between me and a witch, I'm gonna let it zap your ass," Dean said, his tone only half-joking. He was surprised by the look of anger that flashed across Sam's face.

"Oh, so only you're allowed to put your life at risk, Dean? Is that how it goes?" Sam snapped.

Dean's face darkened. "As a matter of fact, that is how it goes. You got a problem with that?" he asked.

Sam threw back his head, laughing without any humor. "Hell, yeah, I got a problem with that! Haven't you done enough for me already, or have you forgotten about a deal you made with a demon?" The words came out razor-sharp, and Sam immediately regretted them as Dean's face went white.

"Drop it, Sammy," came the low reply, but it was too late.

"I've told you this before, and I mean it, Dean. I am going to do everything –EVERYTHING – in my power to break this deal. There is no way I'm going to let you go through with this, do you understand me? I'll let that Crossroads bitch take me before she even touches you. . ." Sam's voice trailed off as Dean exploded.

"NO! You get that idea right out of your head, Sam. You mess with this deal, and we're both dead. She'll take me, and she'll kill you, and I _cannot_ go through that again. You have no idea how I felt when you died, when you were just lying there. . ." Dean's anger drained away, his voice becoming little more than a whisper. Sam was shocked to see his brother's eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Tell me," Sam coaxed quietly, his hand on Dean's arm. His brother trembled beneath his touch, his hazel eyes downcast, and Sam thought he had gone too far. Dean just didn't do feelings, not with anyone.

So he was surprised when Dean choked out, "I was numb. I sat there, staring at your. . ." he paused, swallowing hard, ". . .body, wondering how I could have let this happen. I was supposed to keep you safe, to protect you, and I had failed. And you had paid the price for my failure."

Dean raised his eyes, meeting Sam's troubled gaze. He took in a shaky breath, moving away from his brother's touch, his eyes focused on the water in the distance.

"I had already decided to make the deal with the demon; to do otherwise never crossed my mind. But, I was so afraid she would turn me down, knowing that your death would torture me forever. What a great way to get revenge on Dean Winchester, to deny him what he needs the most, right?" Dean's voice had turn cold, and Sam felt a shiver run down his spine.

Dean turned towards him, his eyes pleading and sad. "You have to understand, Sammy. You are supposed to live, to have a life and a future. Not me. My job is to ensure that you stay alive, no matter what the cost. The fact that I failed you. . .it ripped my heart out."

He paused, considering, and, in a rush, the words came tumbling from his lips.

"If she had turned me down, if she hadn't agreed to restore your life, I would have killed myself. Taken one of the handguns, stuck it in my mouth and blown my head off. With you gone, there was no reason for me to go on."

Sam felt his world spin. He had known Dean had gone through hell; after all, the two times Dean had almost died nearly sent Sam over the edge himself. But he had never considered suicide, ever. Instead, Sam had focused on saving Dean, by finding a faith healer, and by using a spirit board to communicate with his comatose brother.

"Dean," Sam whispered. He didn't know what to say. He was horrified at his brother's words, but he knew it was the truth. Dean would never lie about something so drastic.

Dean stood rigid, looking fragile and shocked at his own admission. He wiped one shaky hand across his face, shutting his eyes at the look on Sam's face. He drew in an unsteady breath, reaching across to grab his brother's arms.

"Sammy, you've always been the one to have a future away from all this madness. You broke away from us, left hunting behind and made a life for yourself. That's something I could never do," Dean said.

"Did you think that was easy?" Sam asked, his voice breaking. "Sure, I wanted to leave hunting behind – all the violence and danger, never being able to stay in one place, never making any friends. But I NEVER left you behind, Dean. That first year, I must have dialed your number twenty times day, every day."

Dean nodded. The same held true for him. He had missed his brother so much it hurt. Granted, he'd had his father, whom he loved and admired, and respected above all, but he couldn't joke with his dad. He couldn't tease him about girls, or razz him about his hair, or belittle his taste in music. And Sam had understood Dean, immediately knowing when his brother was angry or upset or disgusted, and how to deal with him when the moods hit him. His father had never gotten close enough to either of his boys to gain that knowledge. Dad had been Dad, a man on a mission, a hunter whose only focus was searching for his prey.

Dean had been so lonely that he finally left his father to find comfort in Cassie's arms.

It hadn't lasted.

He was a hunter. Staying in one place too long felt wrong; to worry about mortgages and politics and which fabric softener to use inane. He was made for this job, and he was good at it.

And he had always known that it would kill him.

"Sammy, it's over. I made the deal, and I accepted the consequences. It doesn't really matter if you think I made the wrong decision. It's what I needed to do, can you understand that?" Dean asked. Some strength had returned to his voice, and he held Sam's gaze, seeing both doubt and determination in their depths.

"I can understand it," Sam replied slowly. "But I'll never, ever accept it. And I will find a way to save you, Dean."

Dean only nodded, a frown furrowing his brow. "Just promise me no deals of your own," he ordered. As the silence stretched between them, Dean took a step forward, his stance threatening.

"I mean it, Sam. If I even think you're up to something, I'll go to that demon bitch and get this done early. I won't have you give up your life for mine." Dean's tone was icy-cold, and deadly serious.

"Fine! I promise! Is that it?" Sam rasped, knowing in his heart he was lying to his brother.

"No. This is also the last time we discuss this. Agreed?" Dean held Sam's gaze, this time his eyes holding a plea. Knowing he couldn't deny Dean this one request, Sam let out a long sigh, nodding his head.

"Subject is dropped," he whispered.

Dean remained still, his piercing gaze sweeping over his brother. He was sure Sammy was lying to him, but at least they had confronted each other, finally getting everything out into the open.

A chick-flick moment.

Gross.

Dean bent down, grabbing up his cup. "Come on. C.J.'s making bacon and eggs, and I could use a good meal right now." Without waiting for Sam's reply, he ambled off the dock, his bare feet swishing in the grass. Emmie dropped her stick, shaking her wet coat as she followed at his heels.

Sam waited a long moment, his gaze returning to the glistening lake. His own resolve to save his brother was stronger than ever; just imagining a world without Dean was too painful to consider. He glanced down at Jasmine, who had lumbered to her feet, and now stared at him expectantly. He leaned down, and patted the lovable dog on her head. Dutchess just eyed him coolly, the shepherd unruffled by the argument between the brothers.

"Bacon and eggs, Jasmine. My brother gave up his life for me, and all he can think about is breakfast." Sam sighed, and with a wave of his hand, he motioned to the two dogs, and the three of them headed back towards the house.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – I am sorry that this chapter is so long, but I felt it was necessary. Please forgive me for my long-windedness. Also, I have only used certain sections of a pivotal scene in AHBL-P1 (spoiler alert!). Thanks. Peg

The Coven

Chapter 7

The black witch raised her head as one of her underlings nervously entered the room. He was one of her kind, but his power was pathetically weak; he was barely able to summon the smallest amount of dark energy, let alone transform back into his true form.

And the human form he had taken was ironically appropriate: a balding, stooped man in his late fifties, with an ugly face, and bad teeth. He even dressed poorly, his trousers wrinkled and stained, his shirt sporting hideous orange flowers. The black witch barely refrained from killing him on the spot, even though the urge to do so was great, and she let loose a liquid sigh instead. From the look on his face, he was the bearer of bad news.

He bowed low, his comb-over flopping back into place as he straightened. Fussing with the ends of his horrid shirt, he hesitantly raised his eyes, cringing at the cold look on her face.

"Mistress," he began, and the black witch winced at the high-pitched tone of his voice.

Maybe she should just kill him. . .

"Mistress, there had been an incident," he squeaked.

'No kidding,' she thought, although she kept her mouth shut. Surviving in Hell amongst demons and imps and evil gods, not to mention Satan himself, had taught her to bide her time, and that included keeping all snide remarks to herself.

There had been times when it had been extraordinarily difficult, though. . .

He did a little half-shuffle dance with his feet, and continued in that God-awful voice, "Two of our kin have been killed."

"Hunters?" the black witch asked, already bored. If the two black witches were killed by hunters, it could only mean that they were even weaker than the worm who cowered before her now.

"No, Mistress. A white witch," he replied, and the black witch felt a smile cross her face.

Her minion began to shake as the grin grew, revealing razor-sharp fangs.

"Excellent," she said. She licked her lips. A white witch. Apparently one with considerable power.

"And where exactly is this white witch?" the black witch asked, rising to her feet and gliding over to the shivering male, one finger caressing his cheek. A thin line of blood welled up where her claws scratched the skin, but she resisted the urge to lick her fingers.

He would probably taste as sour as he looked.

"She is in the town of Haven, Kansas, about twenty miles east of here," he answered, and the black witch wrinkled her nose at his fetid human breath. She walked around him, her fingers trailing over his shoulders and across his back.

"But she is protected," he added, ducking his head as the black witch paused in front of him. Her red eyes sparked with irritation, and the smile that had been growing on her lips disappeared.

"Protected? How?" she spat. She glared down at the sniveling man, undisguised loathing on her face.

"She is surrounded by fresh water. There is only one access, a wooden bridge, which has been blessed," he squeaked. He cowered, trying to avoid the black-witch's leer.

The black witch stared back, her mind mulling over his words. Protected - and quite well. Fresh water was an effective barrier, a natural part of the human world that wouldn't allow any evil to cross it, if properly enchanted. And a blessed wooden bridge would definitely keep her and her kind out.

Still, the white witch would have to leave her sanctuary at some time. . .

"There are two who are with her now. Young hunters, brothers, we believe," the male witch whined, practically groveling at her feet.

Hmmm. Two hunters and a white witch. This certainly didn't bode well for her plans. Action needed to be taken, and soon, or all she had set in motion would be for naught.

The black witch strode back to her chair, ignoring the mildewed walls and crumbling roof of her hideaway. The decrepit house was located next to a forgotten cemetery, the perfect place to stage her coven. The location was isolated, far away from any human interference. She sat, setting her chin upon one clawed hand, her mind working. Finally, she began to grin, an idea forming.

"Capture one of the hunters; I care not which. His brother will be compelled to rescue him from our clutches, and the white witch will be forced to accompany him. That will drive her from her haven," she said to the repulsive man.

His response was to repeatedly bow, muttering, "Yes, Mistress," and "Very clever, Mistress." She felt the urge to decimate him where he stood, but, summoning up a patience born of eons of suffering, she shoved it away, focusing instead on the white witch. Her mouth watered at the thought of taking her enemy's power, of ripping her flesh from her feeble, human bones, of drinking her lifeblood while it still steamed with heat.

"Go, now, and don't return without the hunter," the black witch ordered. A dozen bows later, and the worthless male witch was gone, leaving the black witch to her thoughts.

She leaned back in her seat, her talon-like fingers grasping the arms of the chair, and satisfaction etched on her face. A white witch, within her grasp, and two hunters as well. Her power would increase exponentially, far greater than that of a demon or a demi-god. Tomorrow night, as the full moon peaked, she and the handful of half-breeds that had brought sacrifices would summon their power. Together, they would begin a reign of terror never before seen.

An evil, hellish smile formed on her mouth.

Things were definitely looking up.

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Sam raised both arms over his head, stretching his aching back and letting out a huge yawn. He bent his neck to either side, moaning in satisfaction at the slight cracking sound. He reached for his Coke, wincing in distaste as the last of the lukewarm liquid slid down his throat.

"C.J., is there any more soda?" he asked, his eyes falling on the woman seated on the floor across from him. She was propped against the couch, her legs lost under the coffee table. 

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah, I think so," was the detached response. She waved one hand towards the kitchen, her eyes never leaving John's journal. Sam rose to his feet, feeling his knees pop, and he smothered another groan of relief. Checking the clock on the mantle, he was surprised to see it was almost six o'clock.

He carefully skirted the book-laden coffee table, pausing long enough to check on his brother. Dean was sprawled on the couch behind C.J., his long form taking up most of the available space. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully.

Or not.

"Dude, grab me one while you're at it," Dean mumbled, although his eyes remained closed.

Sam only shook his head. Research had never been Dean's thing; his brother was more action-oriented, almost always leaving the data gathering to Sam. But for most of the day, Dean had been unusually helpful, plodding through the many books and documents C.J. had accumulated about witches. Still, even Dean had his limits, and about an hour ago, he had declared that his brain was fried, and took over the couch, almost immediately falling asleep.

Sam eyed his dozing brother for another moment, switching his gaze to C.J. She appeared to be completely engrossed in his father's journal, her hazel eyes rapidly scanning each page. Whatever animosity Dean and C.J. had felt for each other last night had almost completely disappeared, and Sam was grateful for the respite. After this morning's discussion on the dock, there was already a strained tension between the two brothers, and adding C.J. and her questionable lineage to the mix could have been a disaster.

Instead, after a hearty breakfast, the three of them had settled in the living room, both brothers agreeing that they would stay long enough to help C.J. destroy the coven. Unfortunately, their first course of action was research. Even though C.J. had battled black witches all her life, even she didn't know all that much about covens. With the stereo on, playing classic rock, and dozens of books littering the coffee table, they had waded through the reams of contradictory information available on witches. It had proved to be a frustrating experience, with very little actually recorded on the activities of full-blooded witches, or covens. Even less was written about black witches that escaped from Hell via a portal; apparently, it had never happened before.

Sam strode into the kitchen, yanking open the ancient humming refrigerator and searching in vain for a Coke. The day had been long, but hardly boring. C.J. and Dean had squabbled almost constantly, arguing over music (David Lee Roth versus Sammy Hagar, with Roth winning for best front man, but Hagar deemed as having the better voice), movies (C.J. was a lover of all things _Alien_, especially Ripley, while Dean professed his admiration and lust for Sarah Connor in the _Terminator_ movies), food (pizza versus Chinese, and this time, pizza won, hands down, so long as it had lots of onions). Sam had rarely interjected, his mind still on his conversation with Dean earlier that morning, his mouth going dry at the thought that this time, next year, there might be no Dean to argue with.

It had been difficult to concentrate on his laptop, between thinking about Dean and watching his brother's interactions with C.J. The two of them may have bickered back and forth, but C.J. had also made his brother laugh, and more than once. It had been so long since Dean had truly laughed – without a shred of sarcasm or derision – that Sam had been startled by the sound.

And she had told them about their mom, relating funny stories of two young girls getting into mischief, and rarely getting caught. For Sam, it had been refreshing, C.J.'s tales showing him a side of his mom that he never knew. Dean had been fascinated as well, asking C.J. pointed questions about their adventures and nodding at some of her comments.

"C.J., there's no soda left," Sam said as he entered the living room.

"I'll go," Dean piped up, practically leaping off the couch, and tugging on his boots.

"A drive would be good," he added, as Sam started to protest.

C.J. finally looked away from the journal, a small frown on her face. She glanced out the window, noting the setting sun. "Can't you guys make do with water, or something?" she asked.

"I'll grab some take-out, too," Dean offered. He snatched up his car keys, and was already moving towards the door. "I'll only be fifteen minutes."

Before either Sam or C.J. could argue, the screened door had slammed shut behind him, and, a few seconds later, Sam heard the roar of the Impala. Forcing back the knot of worry in his stomach, Sam re-took his place on the couch, peering at his laptop and sighing as the search engine announced that it found nothing new. Only one thing of interest had popped up at all: four children had been declared missing, all of them within a hundred miles of Haven. When Sam had related this news to C.J., she had only nodded, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip.

C.J. closed the journal, tossing it on to the table. "Well, I'm glad I stick to witches. All these other. . .things. . .are just too creepy for me," she announced. She slid on to the other couch, shaking her head at Sam. "What you guys deal with. . .its pretty scary," she added.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam replied. Something had been gnawing at him all day, and now that Dean was gone, he decided to broach the subject.

"C.J., you said you and my mom were best friends," he began. C.J. only nodded in response, a glimmer in her eyes.

"So, did she know you were a witch?" Sam asked.

C.J. gazed at Sam, her face pensive. "Of course she did. It was kind of hard to keep it a secret, after all," she answered.

Sam leaned forward, intrigued. "What do you mean?" he asked.

C.J. laughed. "Well, first of all, your powers show up right at puberty, which is only the most awkward stage of anyone's life. And then you have little – if any – control over them. Strong emotions would set them off, in ways you can't imagine. I'm just lucky I'm a protector, and not an aggressor."

Sam gave her a blank look. "Protector? Aggressor?"

C.J. nodded. "Yes. All witches – black or white – have many abilities at their disposal. Telepathy, telekinesis, the power of enchantment, and the gift of healing are just a few of the powers that all white witches possess. It's just that the strength of a particular power varies from witch to witch. In my case, my strongest power is that of protection, both of myself and others." She paused, adding, "An aggressor has the ability to attack, without provocation. Most black witches are aggressors. My power can only be summoned if I – or someone else – is attacked or threatened first."

Sam settled back against the couch, remembering the brilliant golden light streaming from C.J.'s palms last night. A protector, indeed. He was quiet for a long moment, mulling over her words. "So, how did my mom react when she found out?" he asked.

C.J. was silent for so long, Sam was afraid he had ventured too far. Her hazel eyes met his, and he was startled to see resignation and apprehension in their depths. In a moment of clarity, Sam rose to his feet, walking over to the picture on the wall.

"My mom wasn't surprised at all, was she, C.J.?" Sam asked softly. He didn't wait for her answer, closing his eyes as the memory washed over him.

_He and the Yellow-Eyed Demon were transported from the ghost town to his nursery, watching as the events of twenty-three years ago unfurled. It was surreal, seeing himself as an infant of six-months, lying in his crib, the colorful mobile spinning slowly above him. _

_A shadowy figure is bending over the crib, and Sam watches with growing horror as the figure uses his fingernail to slice open his wrist. Blood – demon blood - oozes from the wound, dripping down and into baby Sam's mouth._

_Suddenly, his mother enters the room, her face fierce._

"_It's you!" she seethes, and the figure turns, only his gleaming yellow eyes visible. _

_Sam turns to the Yellow-Eyed Demon, horror in his eyes. "How does she know you?" he asks, but the demon only chuckles in reply. _

_Suddenly, his mother is thrown against the wall by an unseen force, and she is dragged up to the ceiling. Pinned, she is helpless and screaming, screaming. ._

Sam wrenched his mind from the horrible memory, spinning around, his blue-green eyes clouded with shock.

"My mom was a witch," he whispered. It wasn't a question, but C.J. nodded in response, her own features twisted with worry. Sam ignored her, returning to the couch and collapsing on it, too overwhelmed to speak.

It all made sense now, at least to him. For weeks, Sam had turned the events in the nursery over and over in his mind, wondering how his mother could have known the demon. He had finally decided that it was the demon's sick mind game, one of many that he had played on the Winchesters over the years. But the knowledge that his mother was a witch changed everything.

What the demon had showed him was the truth.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and Sam started. He gazed into C.J.'s concerned eyes, seeing all his sorrow reflected there.

"Sam, I know this is a lot to take in. But, yes, your mom was a witch – a white witch, like me," she said softly.

"She tried to save me," Sam choked out, and suddenly he found himself wrapped in C.J.'s arms, an embrace that felt both foreign and comforting. After a moment of hesitation, Sam returned the hug, trying to control the tremors racing through his body.

"Of course she tried to save you. You were her baby," C.J. replied softly. She held him a moment longer, finally pushing herself away, one hand cupping his cheek.

"She tried to save you, but it was beyond her power to take on a demon. Your mom was a seer, not a protector, and so she was totally out of her element. I only wish I had been there. . ." C.J.'s voice trailed away, her own eyes growing distant and wistful.

"A seer. You mean, she had visions, like me?" Sam asked, disbelief in his tone. C.J. looked momentarily surprised, and Sam realized too late that she had no knowledge of his abilities.

Abilities that he had always attributed to the Yellow-Eyed Demon. . .

"You have visions?" she asked, standing and starting to pace around the clutter in the room.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, but I always thought they were sent from the demon. They always seemed to have something to do with him. In fact, since Dean killed him, I haven't had any visions at all." He rubbed at his forehead, a part of him relieved that the frightening images might be gone forever.

"Hmmm," was C.J.'s only comment. Sam watched her frenetic pacing, a knot growing inside him. His mother had been a witch, a fact kept secret all these years, even, it seemed, from his. . . Sam slowly shook his head in denial, even as he voiced the truth.

"Dad knew, didn't he? He knew my mom was a witch! That's why he took up hunting so easily after she was killed," he said, all the pieces starting to fall into place. John Winchester hadn't hesitated to pursue the demon after Mary had been killed; he had never questioned his sanity, or denied what he had seen. He had known, all along, that such things existed.

C.J. gave a rueful smile. "Of course your Dad knew, long before he and Mary were married. At first, he was. . .uncertain of their future together, but, in the end, his love for her outweighed any misgivings he may have had about her. . .abilities."

Her words seemed carefully selected, and Sam frowned, sure that he was missing something. Suddenly, a familiar, piercing pain sliced through his head. His face cringed in agony, and a low moan escaped his lips. His earlier comment that he no longer had visions echoed in his head, and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He squeezed his eyes shut as an image formed, and Sam felt his blood freeze:

_Dean, bound and tied atop a crumbling crypt, his face bloody and bruised, his clothes filthy and torn. It is dark, but light from the moon – the full moon – illuminates the scene, and Sam sees broken headstones and a wrought iron fence. An old house, its walls cracked and crumbling, the roof crooked and sagging, lies just beyond the cemetery. Four children are bound and huddling at the foot of the crypt, the youngest no more than three years old. A form – feminine but somehow wrong – slowly approaches the crypt, a clawed hand reaching out to caress his brother's cheek. Dean twists away, his mouth forming words, but Sam cannot hear them. The witch – for Sam knows that the creature is a black-witch – slaps Dean, and blood wells from his lip. The witch leans in and kisses him, licking at the blood, smiling maliciously as Dean gags and coughs, his face going deathly pale. With a whispered word in his brother's ear, the black witch raises her hands, her fingers wrapped around a serrated blade. She mumbles something – a chant, echoed by four other witches – all half-breeds - each standing at a compass point and surrounding the crypt. Each witch bears a knife similar to that of the black witch. Darkness spreads across the sky, blotting out the moon, and the wind gusts, throwing up dust. The witches are shouting now, and Dean is struggling against his bonds. Suddenly, the black witch stops chanting, and the knife descends quickly, thrust to the hilt into Dean's heart. He lurches, agony in his eyes and blood pouring from his chest as the witch removes the blade. She runs her hands through the wound, rubbing Dean's blood over her face, her red-eyes glowing. And Dean, Dean is dying, he is dead, the life fading from his hazel eyes. . ._

"SAM!" C.J.'s shout wrenched him from the vision, and Sam staggered backwards, falling against the wall. He slid to the floor, his shaking legs unable to support him. Tears streamed down his face, and he let out a sob, the image of his brother still seared on his mind.

"Sam, what's wrong?" C.J. asked, her one hand clenching his arm.

Sam wiped his face with one trembling hand, forcing the image away. He raised his eyes, fear mingling with sorrow.

"Dean. The black-witch has Dean," he whispered.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

The Coven

Chapter 8

Dean Winchester hurt. His head throbbed, his body ached and his lungs burned. Slowly, he returned to consciousness, raising his head in degrees, and blinking open his eyes. He was seated on a floor, propped up against a wall, his hands and feet bound tightly. As his eyes blurred and refocused, he took in his surroundings, and let out a weary sigh.

The sight that greeted him was annoyingly familiar: a filthy, dusty, dank shell of a house, complete with mildewed furniture and the soft pitter-patter of rodents. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the many holes in the sagging roof, casting the corners into shadow. The windows were shattered, jagged shards of glass littering the floor. Faded wallpaper peeled off the walls, and the room was cluttered with debris.

Dean leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes as another burst of pain lanced through his body. He remembered leaving C.J.'s house, roaring down the road in the Impala, happy to be moving, even if it was only for a pizza. He had pulled into a local Dominos, shut the car off, and . . .nothing. Just excruciating pain, followed by darkness.

_Sam_. What about Sam? And C.J.? Dean felt worry sear through him, and he angrily shoved it to the side. Neither Sammy nor C.J. were here, so that meant they were probably fine. Maybe bitching and moaning about dinner being so late, but safe and sound in that big old farmhouse.

Unlike himself. Dean shifted his weight, stifling a low moan, and started working at his bindings. First things first, and that was to blow this popsicle stand.

The sound of footsteps approaching echoed in the house, and Dean quickly stilled, closing his eyes to a slit, and feigning sleep. He forced his body to relax as the steps paused just before him, and someone – something – leaned in close.

"I know you are awake, hunter." The voice was melodic, feminine, but laced with malice. Dean tried to continue his farce, but the woman's breath was horrendous. He coughed, twisting his head away from her mouth.

"Okay, okay, you got me," he rasped. He straightened up as much as he could, and gave her his best 'I am so pissed right now' glare.

The sight that greeted his eyes was repulsive. Blood red eyes and fang-like teeth, a hooked, rotting nose, strings of grimy, oily hair and skin so white it looked like parchment. Her hands curled into lizard-like claws. What clothing she wore hung on her like rags, and it was blood-stained and filthy. And the smell. . .it was awful. As Dean grimaced in disgust, she chuckled, and transformed, her face becoming almost angelic, her smile sweet and alluring. Icy blue eyes stared down at him, glinting with barely contained glee. Her clothing had changed as well, morphing into a pale linen blouse and tight blue jeans. Now, from all outward appearances, the witch before him was nothing more than a woman, beautiful and indescribably desirable.

Except for the lingering stench.

"You know, a breath mint wouldn't hurt," Dean muttered.

The witch only laughed again, one hand caressing Dean's cheek. As he pulled away, her fingers melted, and razor-sharp claws emerged, grasping his face roughly.

"You are strong-willed, hunter. I like that. Taking your life will be much more satisfying than I had anticipated," she purred. Her eyes glowed dangerously, and one claw dug into his cheek. Blood welled in the wound, and Dean flinched, watching in revulsion as she brought the clawed finger to her lips, licking the blood off with a twisted grin. Puzzlement descended on her features, and she gazed at him appraisingly.

"Your mother was a witch?" she asked, reaching down to wipe at his face and take another taste. Dean furiously turned his head away, rage flashing through him at the mention of his mother.

"No, you sick bitch. Now, get the hell away from me," he snapped. He struggled against his bonds, the tight ropes cutting deeper into his wrists with every movement. The witch merely stared at Dean, unruffled by the fury in his tone.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat, and the witch stiffened.

"Mistress, the others have arrived," a chubby male witch whined.

The witch nodded, although her attention was still focused on Dean. "They have sacrifices?" she asked, her tone level. She had transformed again, the beautiful face replaced by the horrid visage.

"Yes – all children, very young," he replied.

Dean's head shot up at this, his rage transforming into horror. Children. Jesus.

"Bind them and put them in the back room. And be sure to gag them; I detest their incessant crying," the witch ordered. Her eyes had not left Dean as she spoke, and, as the male witch turned, skittering out of the room, she leaned low, her face level with his.

"There is more to you than you know, hunter. It is too bad that you will die before the truth of your heritage is revealed," she intoned. Abruptly, she stood, whirling away and striding from the room.

Dean only sagged against the wall, all his strength draining away as he watched her leave. Blood streamed down his face from the gouging the witch had inflicted, trickling on to his shirt. He ignored it, his mind churning over the witch's statement.

'Your mother was a witch?'

No. No, it was a ploy, a lie, a game the black witch was playing, a way to mess with his head before she killed him. Anger surged through him, and he renewed his attack at his bonds, shifting over to grab up a piece of broken glass. Awkwardly, he started sawing at his ropes, his hand dripping blood as the glass bit into his flesh.

And the whole time he worked, his mind replayed the witch's words, a tiny part of his heart wondering if maybe they were true.

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Sam drove the beat-up Bronco down the road, watching C.J. from the corner of his eye. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Fear – his constant companion today – nibbled at his resolve, and he angrily pushed it to the back of his mind.

"Okay. Yeah. I know, but it's all we've got right now. Bobby. . .Bobby! Look, just get here. All right. Yeah, you too." C.J. snapped the cell phone closed, shutting her eyes and rubbing at her forehead. She settled into the seat with a sigh, staring out at the pitch black night.

"Bobby's on his way?" Sam asked.

C.J. nodded. "Yeah. He's left already, but he's still at least six hours out. It's going to be up to us, Sam," she replied softly.

Sam didn't reply, his mind returning to his horrifying vision of last night. Dean, hurt and bound, stabbed to death by the black witch. The image was seared on his brain, not only because of its content, but because C.J. had spent the day relentlessly grilling him about it.

_What did you see . . .exactly? Describe it, down to the last detail_. She even made him sketch the layout of the cemetery, showing the iron fencing, the crypt, the Impala parked in front of the ramshackle house.

And over and over, the last few seconds of the vision. _What kind of knife was it? What did the witches chant? What else did you hear, or see, or smell?_ Sam had nearly gone insane, endlessly describing Dean's death, and seeing it happen in his mind. Twice he'd had to stop, his emotions overwhelming him, leaving him speechless and shaking. But C.J. had been persistent, only giving him a few minutes to compose himself before asking the same questions again.

At least they had a plan. Sam nearly snorted as the idea bounced in his head. Yeah, right, a plan. More like a suicide mission, at least for C.J. The white witch was the one taking all of the risks, even though Sam had argued angrily against it. She had been adamant, insisting that he wasn't capable of taking on a full-blooded black witch, along with four half-breeds.

Sam suspected that C.J. wasn't capable of it, either.

"Okay, we're about a mile out," she said. "Pull down this road, and park."

Sam complied, and they bounced down a dusty farmer's path, finally parking out of sight of the main road. Sam killed the engine, and turned to look at C.J.

"Maybe we should wait for Bobby. . ." he began, but C.J. was already shaking her head.

"No, Sam. He'll never get here in time. In an hour – maybe less – Dean and those kids are going to be sacrificed. I need to go now, before this witch acquires any more power. Now, you know what to do?"

Sam only nodded. Sure. He knew what to do. They had only gone over the plan four thousand times in the last three hours. The problem was, Sam was used to Dean coming up with a plan, Dean barking out the orders, Dean running full tilt boogie into danger. He was accustomed to having Dean by his side and having C.J. in his stead was almost like Sam was betraying his brother.

God, he missed the annoying jerk.

"Okay. Remember – your focus is on Dean and the kids. Nothing else. You get them, you get out. Got it?" C.J.'s voice was harsh, and Sam could see the steel in her eyes.

"Yeah, I got it. But I still don't like it," he replied. Hated it was more the truth, but all his arguments had been for nothing. He blinked as she leaned forward, cupping one cheek with her hand.

"I'll be fine, Sam. Don't worry about me. Keep your focus on Dean and those children. And don't forget what I taught you," she said softly. She held his gaze for a long moment, a soft smile on her lips.

Sam swallowed. What she had taught him. . .talk about insanity. Unable to trust his voice, Sam gave her a short, crooked smile. A moment later, the truck door slammed shut and C.J. disappeared into the night.

Sam leaned his head back against the seat, doubt and fear crawling up his spine. He shut his eyes, imagining all the things that could go wrong. What if he had missed something in his vision? What if they were too late, and his brother had already been killed, his blood dripping off the crypt and pooling on the ground? Or, what if Sam couldn't get to Dean, or C.J. didn't give him enough time, or something that they couldn't foresee sent this half-ass plan spiraling out of control?

Sam sucked in a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the job at hand, and ignoring all the doubts that echoed in his head. Now was not the time to dredge all these things up.

One thing was for sure; if they failed tonight, he wouldn't have to worry about Crossroads Demons and life debts due in less than a year, and neither would Dean.

If they failed tonight, they'd both be dead.

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C.J. hurried across the shadowed farm field, grateful for the cover the August corn gave her. She moved quickly, almost silently, through the towering stalks, her supernatural senses straining for any sign of the coven. So far, there had been no evidence of any witch activity, a relief to C.J. That meant that Dean – and the children – were still alive.

She pictured Sam's drawing in her mind. The abandoned cemetery was just beyond the farmer's field, well hidden behind the wretched old house. According to Sam's vision, the graveyard was a mess, overrun with weeds and briars, the gravestones faded and crumbling. The iron fence was little more than rust and decay, with large sections missing.

Despite the danger, C.J. couldn't help but smile. When Mary died, C.J. had thought all her supernatural powers had died along with her. The knowledge that Sam had visions was surprising, but also wonderful. It was like the most special part of Mary still lived on in her son.

She paused, crouching low as she came to the edge of the field. An irrigation ditch flowed sluggishly at her feet, dispensing life-giving water to the crops. C.J. took a moment, sinking her hand into the water, and silently whispered an incantation. Her fingers glowed as she enchanted the ditch, effectively preventing any evil from escaping in this direction.

Wiping her hand dry on her jeans, C.J. peered across the flat expanse, catching sight of the house, draped in gloom despite the full moon's glow. As she watched, shadowed figures emerged from the front doorway, one of which was obviously Dean. He staggered and struggled, and although she couldn't hear his words, it was obvious that he was abusing his captors verbally.

Just like his Dad – always wanting to get the last word in.

C.J. leapt lightly over the ditch, running low to the ground, chanting to herself as she moved. It was a risk, using her magic this close to the house – and to the witches – but she didn't want to be seen. She was betting that the witches would be so preoccupied with the upcoming festivities that they wouldn't detect her until it was too late. Shielded by her spell, she flitted across the open yard, her form resembling little more than a shadow.

As she reached the house, she paused, skimming along the wall. Cautiously, she peeked into a broken window, but the interior was dark, barely illuminated by the moonlight. She strained her senses, listening for any movement, but all was quiet.

Too quiet.

Too late, she realized her mistake. A low chuckle sounded behind her, and she swiftly spun around, raising her hands to ward off the witch's attack. She screamed as a blast of black energy seared through her, slamming her into the wall, and dropping her to the ground.

C.J. lay stunned, barely able to raise her head as the black witch approached. The creature bent down, satisfaction and triumph etched on her hideous face. C.J. blinked, trying to fight off unconsciousness, but losing the battle. Slowly, she sagged to her side, her last thought that she had failed Sam and Dean, and surprised at the sorrow that welled up within her at the thought.

Then she knew no more.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – Spoilers for 'Nightmare.' Thanks. Peg

The Coven

Chapter 9 

Dean staggered, nearly falling to his knees as the male witch with the questionable fashion sense – better known as Baldy, at least in Dean's mind - shoved him from behind. The hunter shot an angry glare over his shoulder, frowning at the sadistic delight on the witch's face.

"You know, you're an ugly bastard," Dean managed to rasp out. "I mean, Witchy-poo is really revolting, but that's her natural form. But you – you actually chose this look?"

The male witch responded with a hard punch to Dean's right kidney, and this time he did fall, collapsing to his hands and knees in agony. Pain ricocheted through him, and he struggled to draw in a breath. The ropes that bound his hands cut deeply into his wrists, drawing more blood, but Dean ignored it, his entire mind focused on trying to stay conscious.

Sonofabitch, that hurt.

Dean was still trying to breathe as he was yanked to his feet, and he stumbled forward. Through watering eyes, he saw that they were in a cemetery, a neglected one from the looks of it. He slowed as he saw a huge old crypt looming before him. At the base, bound and blindfolded and huddled together, were four children, the oldest no more than six years old. Guarding the kids were two more half-breed witches, both in the guise of women.

"Kneel," the male witch commanded, one strong hand pushing Dean down. The hunter complied, his eyes never leaving the children. Icy trickles of dread pooled in his stomach as he realized that he was about to partake in a witch's coven, and probably not as the guest of honor.

No – from the way things looked, he was more like the appetizer.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Dean turned, his eyes widening in horror. Another male witch – a huge, hulking monolith of a man – was approaching, the limp form of C.J. draped over one shoulder. Behind him was Witchy-poo herself, a smug look on her disgusting features.

Dean's heart nearly stopped. If C.J. was here, that meant that Sam was here – somewhere - as well.

Crap.

"Put the white-witch there," Witchy-poo ordered, and Hulkman dumped C.J. to the ground, bending to secure her wrists together. C.J. made no sound, her face pale, a thin line of blood seeping from the corner of her mouth.

The black-witch strolled over to Dean, one hand sliding through his hair. He yanked his head away, shuddering at her touch.

"I think you will be the first, hunter. I was going to save you for last, in the hopes that I had captured your brother, and torturing you with his death, but apparently, he doesn't care about your fate. So, instead, you will be our first sacrifice. Take him."

Once more, Dean was yanked to his feet, this time by Hulkman. He struggled viciously, spitting out curses as he was half-dragged over to the crypt, but all his resistance was for nothing; Hulkman didn't even seem to notice. With a grunt, the male witch lifted Dean on to the crypt, and with the help of Baldy, lashed him down with nylon ropes. Dean continued to fight, his muscles straining against the ropes, but his strength was ebbing. He turned his head, watching as the black witch slowly circled the crypt, a slow chant coming from her lips.

Overhead, the once clear night sky started to darken, with thick, rolling clouds obscuring the light of the full moon. The wind picked up, and dust began to sift through the air. Dean could hear the children as they whimpered and cried, and he renewed his struggles, desperate to break free of his bonds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the four witches move, each taking a position on a side of the crypt. Slowly, they all drew long, sharp daggers, raising them overhead, their voices muttering the same dark incantation that the black witch had started.

Dean twisted his head as the black witch moved closer, her face looming down over his.

Her blood red eyes were filled with desire, and she reached out with one clawed hand, seeming to caress his cheek.

"Don't touch me, you bitch!" Dean yelled, pulling his face away from her icy touch.

She only laughed, and slapped him, hard. Blood trickled from his lip, and before Dean could react, the black witch had leaned forward, lowering her mouth to his in a kiss. She licked at his bloody lip, lust filling her eyes, ignoring Dean as he shuddered and gagged. All the color leeched from his face as the black witch bent close and whispered in his ear.

"I can taste your mother's witch blood, hunter," she growled. "And soon, I will feast on yours."

Dean shut his eyes, nausea and revulsion roiling through his body. He fought against his bindings, but his efforts were pitiful. The witch's kiss had drained him of all his strength, and, it seemed, all his hope. Knowing that his luck had finally run out, Dean focused all his thoughts on Sam, thankful that his brother wasn't here, that there was a chance that he was safe.

The black witch had stepped back, raising a serrated dagger, her voice rising above the shouts of the other witches. The sky above was pitch black, roiling with heavy, angry clouds. Dust and debris skittered across the cemetery, broken branches and flurries of leaves buffeted by the wind. The four other witches were shrieking, the harsh words of the dark spell sucked into the wind. With a savage grin, the black witch gripped the dagger, triumph in her eyes. As the howl of the wind became a roar, she plunged the knife downward, straight towards Dean's heart.

_Oh Christ_. . .Dean thought, and he braced himself for the pain.

It never came.

Suddenly, a brilliant golden light surrounded him, rippling and surging as it flowed over his body. Dean's pain immediately dulled, and the nausea and desperation he felt after the witch's kiss disappeared. The black witch let out a furious shriek as the dagger's descent was stopped, the knife glowing white hot in the light before disintegrating into pieces.

Dean rolled his head to the side, his eyes peering through the light and growing wide at the sight of C.J., pale and still bleeding, but on her feet. Her hands, still bound, were lifted, streaming with light, her lips moving rapidly.

"KILL HER!" the black witch screamed. The three closest witches moved, and the golden glow surrounding Dean faded as C.J. whirled, bolts of white-hot energy shooting from her palms as she defended herself. The black witch gave Dean a final glare before joining the rest of her kin, attacking C.J. with blasts of dark energy.

Without warning, there was the loud roar of an engine, and from the west, crashing through the brush and blasting through the ruined iron fence, came C.J.'s Ford Bronco. Dean's head whipped around, staring in shock at the sight of the truck as it barreled straight towards the crypt. It skidded to a stop mere inches from the tomb, and then Sam was there, shotgun in hand, blasting at the last remaining witch. She shrieked in pain as the consecrated iron pierced her heart, and her eyes brimmed with hatred. Only wounded, she raised her dagger, running at Sam with a scream, and Dean let out a cry of warning.

It wasn't necessary; Sam calmly aimed the shot gun, and pulled the trigger. Blood and gore spattered everywhere as the half-breed witch's head was blown away. In an instant, her body had disintegrated into dust, swept away by the angry wind.

Sam ran over to the crypt, relief and concern etched on his features as he took in Dean's battered form. Leaning down, he grabbed up the dead witch's knife, and sliced through the rope, freeing his brother.

"Man, am I glad to see you," Dean rasped. He sat up, wincing in pain and grimacing at his bloody wrists. His attention was captured by C.J., her face drawn, as she deflected the witches attacks. The white witch was desperately moving, spinning in circles as the four remaining creatures blasted her with dark power. Her golden light seemed to be everywhere, blocking the evil energy, and pummeling into the witches, even as their attacks narrowly missed her. Still, it was obvious that C.J. was tiring. Dean frowned as she stumbled and ran to take shelter behind a large grave marker.

"Yeah, me too. Can you walk?" Sam replied, one hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him. He followed his brother's stare, his mouth drawing tight at the light show going on fifty feet away, C.J.'s words echoing in his head.

"_Your focus is on Dean and the kids. You get them, you get out."_

"Come on, we've got to help her," Dean said, grunting in pain and wobbling as his feet touched the ground. He was halted by Sam's grip on his arm.

"No, Dean. We've got to get the kids," Sam said. He motioned to the front of the crypt, where the children were sobbing, clustered tightly together. Without waiting for an answer, he hurried over to them, bending to cut at their bindings. A moment later, still a bit unsteady, Dean was at his side, doing his best to reassure the children as their blindfolds were removed. He grabbed the youngest, a little girl who couldn't have been more than three years old, clutching her close despite his injuries. With Sam leading the way, shotgun in hand, the small group ran towards the abandoned house – and the Impala.

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C.J. was going to die. Taking on one witch was dangerous at best, and this hair-brained scheme of taking on five was, quite simply, insane. The fact that one of the witches was a full-blooded black witch, with unbelievable powers at her disposal, only meant that her death would be horrifyingly painful.

Actually, now it was four. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam blast one of the female witches as he moved to save his brother. Thank God he was following her orders, and focusing on Dean and the kids. Once they were clear, C.J. could stop baiting the witches, and try to make her own escape. Later, if she survived, she could track them all down and kill them.

Right now, though, she was buying the brothers' some time. She raised her bound hands, feeling her power boil within her, and white-hot bursts of energy streamed from her palms, slamming into the witches, their shrieks of pain and rage mixing with the roar of the wind. Dust flew, obscuring C.J.'s vision, and making it hard to breathe.

"_Come on, Sam, get going,"_ C.J. thought. Her attention was caught by the black witch, the hideous creature barking orders at one of the male witches. The male raced away, running to intercept Sam and Dean and the kids. Before C.J. could react, the black witch renewed her attack, pounding at C.J. with dark energy, while the remaining two witches circled her, their moves lightening fast. Although their power was inferior to that of the black witch, they were still a force to be reckoned with and it was all C.J. could do to protect herself. Desperately, she took shelter behind a gravestone, her energy already starting to wane.

The brothers were on their own. C.J. could only hope that Sam would remember her words – and use them.

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Sam, Dean and the children had only gone a few yards when Baldy stepped in front of Sam. Dean watched as his brother slid to a stop, raising the barrel of the shotgun, but, with the male witch murmuring a low chant, the weapon was ripped from Sam's hands, flying off into the brush. Baldy gave an evil grin, and with inhuman speed, ran directly at Sam.

"SAMMY!" Dean shouted, wincing as he dropped the little girl to the ground, knowing that he couldn't get to his brother in time.

To his amazement, Sam stood his ground, raising his hands and whispering. The black witch was halted in his tracks, the look on his features almost funny as he was lifted and thrust violently into the air. He hovered overhead, and then he was flying, slamming into a grave marker and collapsing in the thick brush, more than twenty feet away. Sam eyed the fallen witch, but Baldy didn't move. He whirled around, breathing hard, his entire body shaking.

"Come on!" he barked, scooping up the little girl and running towards the Impala. Dean didn't ask questions, although his mind was racing, and he followed, herding the kids towards the car. Sam yanked open the back door, and practically tossed the little girl on to the back seat. A moment later, the three other children followed, terror on their faces.

Sam leaned in, admonishing the kids to stay in the car, and slammed the door shut, sagging against car, his eyes clenched shut.

"Sammy? You okay?" Dean asked, one hand gripping his brother's arm. Whatever Sam had done to the black witch, it had cost him a lot; he was pale and trembling, his face haggard. Disbelief and fear lingered in his eyes as he gave Dean a short nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Sam took in a shuddering breath, pulling the car keys from his pocket.

"C'mon, we've got to go," he added.

Dean stood his ground, shaking his head. He grabbed the keys from Sam's hand, limping to the back of the Impala. Raising the trunk, he snatched up another shotgun, ramming consecrated iron into the chamber.

"Dean, C.J. said to get you and the kids and go," Sam started, but Dean cut him off with a look.

"I'm not leaving her," Dean snapped. He thrust the weapon into Sam's hands, and grabbed up a canteen. Unscrewing the lid, he quickly doused the car with holy water.

"You can stay here, and keep an eye on the kids. I'll get C.J." Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the gun, turned and ran back towards the cemetery. A moment later, Sam slammed the trunk shut, a shotgun in his hands as he followed his brother.

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C.J. winced as another chunk of concrete was thrown into the air. She had left the shelter of the grave stone – which turned out to be no shelter at all after the black witch smashed it with her power - and barely escaped to take cover at the now-abandoned crypt. She cringed as she eyed the Bronco, wondering if she could make it to the truck, but another ground-shaking burst of dark energy, followed by flying pieces of concrete, vetoed that idea. The gusting wind whipped her hair into her eyes as she pressed her back to the cold tomb, crouching down and waiting for the witches to regroup. She eyed her bound hands, and whispered a brief chant. A moment later, the ropes melted away, falling to the ground in a pile, and she rubbed at her raw wrists. To say that she was worried was an understatement. Her energy level was slipping dangerously low, and her current tactic of run – dodge – roll – duck - hide – repeat - wasn't going last much longer. She glanced over towards the house, searching for the Impala, hoping that Sam and Dean and the kids were long gone. To her horror, she saw Dean racing towards her, and Sam on his brother's heels, both of them hitting the ground as the remaining witches turned their focus on them.

God DAMN it! Just like a freaking Winchester! Would it be so difficult to follow directions just once?

C.J. emerged from her shelter, chanting angrily, and focusing all her rage at the black witches. Her golden power shot from her hands, making the witches scurry for their own refuge. From the corner of her eye, C.J. saw Sam and Dean start to move again, and relief flowed through her. She dropped down, hiding behind the concrete tomb as she tried to catch her breath.

From around the side of the crypt, the second half-breed female emerged, her human form lithe and tall. C.J., her focus slowed by exhaustion, didn't move fast enough and black energy blasted into her. Screaming, she staggered away, falling to the ground as her feet lost their purchase. Pain, bright and as sharp as a razor, ripped through her, preventing her from calling her own power. The tall witch moved closer, her energy pummeling into C.J.

The roar of a shotgun echoed in the night, and suddenly C.J. could breathe again. She coughed and shook, her entire body throbbing in agony. Blinking open her eyes, she could see Dean kneeling at her side, his eyes worried. Sam hovered behind his brother, his gun ready as he watched for the other witches.

"C.J.?" Dean gazed down at the white witch, frightened at the pallor of her skin. She was ghost-white, her lips so pale they appeared to be bloodless. He raised her up to a sitting position, steadying her with one hand.

"Sam, I thought I told you to get Dean and the kids and leave!" C.J. managed to rasp out, and Dean grinned in relief. If she was bitching, she would be fine.

"We're just waiting for you," Dean said. C.J. only glared, taking Dean's hand as he tugged her to her feet. Swaying slightly, her eyes swept the cemetery, her face drawing into a frown. The wind continued to gust and howl, and debris still filled the air, but there was no sign of the remaining two witches.

"Where are they?' Sam asked. He stood before C.J., his shotgun held loosely in his hands, his shoulders tense. He blinked against the onslaught of wind and dust, his own eyes searching the area.

"Don't know. Don't care. Come on, we're leaving," Dean replied, grabbing C.J.'s elbow and leading her towards the Impala.

"No. Wait, Dean. This is. . .wrong," C.J. said, standing stock still, her entire body rigid.

From out of the dust and the darkness an inhuman wailing was heard, and then the huge male witch came hurtling towards them, his arms raised and flames spewing from his hands. Immediately, C.J. lifted her hands, throwing up a golden shield to protect the three of them from his attack. Fire surged and licked at the golden light, and intense heat penetrated the shield, but no flames reached the hunters.

"Can we use our weapons?" Dean shouted, and C.J. nodded, her lips chanting desperately. Without another word, both brothers raised their shotguns, and fired. The golden light bowed and trembled as the bullets pierced the shield, and the next moment, Hulkman was falling to the ground, his body disappearing in the wind.

C.J. lowered her arms, feeling her heart pound in her chest. Her power was nearly gone. They had to leave – now – before the black witch attacked.

She turned, freezing as her eyes fell upon a ghoulish sight. The black witch was kneeling on the ground next to the male witch Sam had tossed across the cemetery. Her hands were buried in Baldy's chest, her face covered with his blood. The witch was muttering and laughing, licking her lips as she drank, her entire body surrounded with dark energy. Lifting her head, she glared at the three hunters with blood-red eyes, her mouth drawing into a malicious grin.

"Oh shit," C.J. swore. She could sense the brothers moving next to her, Dean reloading his shotgun and reciting his own litany of curses. Sam was silent, his eyes reflecting his revulsion at the scene before them.

In a flash, the black witch was moving, her speed phenomenal. C.J. heard Dean's shotgun go off, followed almost immediately by Sam's, but the black witch didn't even register the bullets. Still shrieking and laughing, she waved her hand at the Winchesters, and they were shoved to the ground, writhing in pain as black energy streamed into their chests. C.J. muttered a chant, flicking her hands at the immobilized brothers, her light blocking the spell.

Dark power slammed into her, and she screamed, whirling away and breaking the spell with a shouted incantation. She lifted her hands, white bolts of power pounding into the black witch, as she moved towards the Winchesters. The black witch shuddered and cursed, spinning into the raging storm and seeming to disappear.

C.J. dragged in a huge breath, her entire body shaking with exhaustion. She briefly shut her eyes, knowing that there was only one course of action left to them. She spun to Dean and Sam, who had staggered to her side, her words short and clipped.

"There's no time to explain. Each of you, take my wrist. No matter what happens, do not let go. Understand? Don't let go!" She stared at them both in turn, seeing reluctance and confusion in Dean's eyes, and determination in Sam's. She held out her arms, and immediately Sam dropped his gun, his left hand warm on her skin as he grabbed her wrist. After a moment of hesitation, Dean did the same, his right hand circling her wrist securely.

C.J. raised her hands, the brothers' lifting their arms along with her.

"Okay, bitch, let's finish this!" C.J. called out. For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind, and then a shriek of laughter, as raw and sharp as glass, echoed across the cemetery. From out of nowhere, moving with incredible speed, the black witch hurtled straight towards the three hunters, dark energy surging with her.

C.J. began to chant, closing her eyes in concentration. Immediately, her power flared to life, the golden light familiar, but now combined with rich blue and glittering silver hues. The light rolled and dipped, surrounding the three, and blocking the black witches attack. C.J.'s eyes shot open, and with a flick of her fingers, she sent a blast of the multi-colored energy directly at the black witch, watching it slam into the creature with satisfaction.

Sam held tight to C.J.'s wrist, feeling his own power awaken. He had felt it before, when he had moved the armoire blocking the closet door in Max's house, but it had only been a momentary thing, a reaction to the vision of Dean getting killed. He had never used the power again, and not only because he was unable to summon it at will. He had feared his power, believing it was from the Yellow-Eyed Demon, thinking that it was the evil part of him. The knowledge that his mother had been a witch – and that his power came from her – changed everything. He closed his eyes, trusting C.J. as she manipulated the energy, feeling his heart hum and his breathing quicken.

Dean's eyes were wide open, his mouth agape as he felt something spring to life within him. Power, strong and steady, pulsed through him, and he stared in amazement as silver light flowed from his hand, streaming into C.J.'s wrist and combining with her warm golden light. From C.J.'s other hand, a deep blue glow was mixing with the gold, and Dean could only surmise that the blue light was from Sam.

For a moment, a fear so deep and chilling it seemed bottomless gripped him; this power came from somewhere, from someone, and the black witch's words echoed in his head:

_Your mother was a witch_.

It was true. His mother had been a witch.

He almost dropped his hand, his despair was so great, but then he heard C.J.'s voice in his head, calm and reassuring despite the battle that she fought.

"_Your mother . . . was a white witch, Dean. She was good – not evil. Trust me."_

Trust. Had the situation not been so dire, Dean would have snorted in derision. There was only one person he trusted – completely – in this world, and he just happened to be on C.J.'s right side. Dean's quick glance at Sam showed that his brother still grasped C.J.'s wrist securely, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. Suddenly, Sam's voice echoed in Dean's head.

"_It's okay, Dean. I promise."_

As freaky as the moment was, that was all it took. Dean trusted Sam, and if his brother said it was okay, well, then, it was okay. Dean sucked in a deep breath, and shut his eyes, giving himself over to C.J.'s gentle control.

The black witch had risen to her feet, her face twisted in rage. Her clawed hands dripped blood, and she snarled at the three hunters. She had grown immensely powerful after feasting on the male witch, and now, she would use that power to make them pay.

Once more, she attacked, gliding over the ground at an incredible speed. Dark energy, combined with flames, sprang from her hands, smashing into the protective cocoon C.J. had created. C.J. gasped as her energy waned, and she struggled to keep the barrier up. Although she was using the Winchesters' latent powers, neither of them had any training, and they were of no help when it came to control. Her concentration was slipping, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest.

She had to end this – now.

The black witch continued to assault the hunters, now tearing gravestones from the ground with a wave of her hand, and hurling them at the golden light. Dark energy, dense and curling like a snake, wrapped around the barrier, and blocked C.J.'s view of the black witch. Fire danced and hissed, searching for a way through the golden light.

The protective spell wobbled and flexed, and C.J. knew it would only be moments before it fell completely.

Taking a last burst of power from each brother, she summoned up what little energy she had left. She wrenched from the brother's grasp, moving forward and attacking the black witch head on. Vaguely, she could hear both Dean and Sam shouting her name, but she ignored them.

The black witch recoiled as C.J. advanced, surprised at the white witch's tactics. Golden fire spit from C.J.'s hands, edged with silver and blue light. C.J. ran right at the witch, her chanting seeming to echo across the cemetery. The wind was furious, the sky overhead rumbling with thunder. With a final cry, C.J. grabbed the witch, her hands gripping the creature's face, her golden power streaming into the witch's mouth.

The witch let out a horrified screech as the power of good flowed into its body. It writhed and beat at C.J., dark energy spewing from its fingers as it tried to shake the white witch off. C.J. held on, her face set, her mouth clenched as all her energy rushed into the black witch. For a moment, her hazel eyes met those of the witch, and she could see defeat in the creature's hate-filled gaze.

It was a great moment.

C.J. let go of the witch as shafts of golden light began to break through the witch's body. The witch was screaming, shrieking, ripping at her body as it transformed wildly, each visage more grotesque than the last. C.J. stumbled away, feeling her legs give out, knowing that her actions had probably killed her. Her body was beyond exhausted, and she had used every last bit of her power; there was nothing left. As blackness filled her vision, she slumped forward, her body crashing to the ground. A moment later, a huge pulse of blinding light lit the cemetery, leveling the gravestones, ripping out the iron fence, and shattering the night with a deafening roar. The black witch gave one last hideous shriek before exploding into a thousand pieces, disappearing into the night.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – Hooray! Final chapter at last. Many, many spoilers: 'Bloodlust,' "Born Under a Bad Sign,' 'Folsom Prison Blues,' and 'Hollywood Babylon.' Thanks for reading. Peg

The Coven

Chapter 10

Sam slowly raised his head, his head ringing from the shock of the explosion. He blinked his eyes, his gaze sweeping the area, falling on the still form of his brother.

"Dean!" Painfully, Sam struggled to his feet, staggering over to Dean and carefully turning him over. His brother responded with a low groan, coughing harshly as he rolled to his side. He grimaced in pain as he fought to breathe, but he waved one hand at Sam.

"I'm okay, Sammy. Help me up." He hissed in pain as Sam pulled him to his feet, both men swaying slightly as they stared in amazement at their surroundings.

The cemetery was decimated. It looked as if a tornado had smashed through, ripping out headstones, churning up the soil, flattening the thick briars and brush. Two of the windows on the Bronco were nothing more than jagged shards of glass, the windshield sported a huge crack, and chunks of concrete decorated the hood. Even the old crypt hadn't been spared; it was now on its side, tilted at a dangerous angle. Overhead, the full moon shone brightly, the dark clouds all but disappeared, and the gusting winds had been reduced to a gentle night time breeze.

"C.J.?" Sam called, his heart going cold. He could still see her running towards the black witch, grabbing the creature's face and forcing her power into its mouth. Sam had started to follow, but Dean's firm grip on his arm had stopped him. Together, they had watched as the black witch had gone insane, shrieking and ripping at itself, its face transforming like liquid. C.J. had fallen, just a moment before the witch had exploded, the light so bright it was almost unbearable.

"C.J.!" Sam ran forward, his breath catching as he saw her small form, lying still in the brush. He froze as Dean rushed by him, his brother kneeling at her side.

"She's alive," Dean barked, his fingers feeling for a pulse in her neck. He let out a startled yelp as his hand was batted away. C.J. cracked open her eyes, shooting Dean an exasperated look as she struggled to sit up.

"Of course I'm alive, you idiot. Now, help me up," she croaked. Dean wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to her feet, his face lined with worry. She was still paper white, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and he could feel her shivering, probably from shock. She may be alive, but he was sure she was far from okay.

C.J.'s gaze traveled over the cemetery, shaking her head at the destruction. Her eyes were drawn to the ravaged body of the male witch, his chest ripped open and his blood everywhere. Somehow, his corpse had remained although everything around him had been destroyed. There was no sign of the black witch or the three dead half-breeds. A distant wailing reached her ears, and C.J. grimaced. The cops were coming, and a dead man lay at their feet.

It was time to go.

"Let's go home," C.J. whispered, and leaning heavily on Dean, she stumbled towards the Impala. Sam followed, pausing long enough to grab up their weapons, before sliding into the driver's seat. With a reassuring word to the kids, still huddled together in the back seat, he fired up the car, and, with C.J. and Dean at his side, drove into the night.

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"Thank you, Officer. I appreciate all your help," C.J. said with a smile, leading the young trooper to the door. Outside, Bobby was unhooking her Bronco from a tow truck, frowning at the wrecked front end. The hunter absently patted Emmie, shaking his head as he inspected the rest of the truck.

"Yes, ma'am. It's the strangest thing, your vehicle being stolen, and found next to some guy who was mauled by a bear," the officer – Eric Littleton, according to his badge - said. He plopped his wide-brimmed hat on his head, and settled his hands on his hips. C.J. widened her smile, pushing open the screened door, and easing the trooper out on to the porch. They were followed by Dutchess and Jasmine, the hound sagging to the floor of the cool porch with a groan.

"Oh, that poor man. And you think he was the thief?" C.J. asked innocently as she escorted him down the steps. The trooper only shrugged.

"We can only assume that it was. Anyway, thanks for the coffee, and if you need anything, feel free to call." He tipped his hat, giving her a smile of his own, and strode to his car. She watched with a satisfied grin as he drove over the wooden bridge, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

"Well, that worked out well," she said as Bobby sauntered over. He tugged at his baseball cap, his weathered face clearly unhappy.

"You're just lucky, C.J. That's all," he growled. "From what Sam and Dean told me, you almost got yourself killed."

C.J. didn't argue. She had been as surprised as the Winchesters when she blinked open her eyes after tangling with the black witch. Beaten, battered and so far beyond exhausted it wasn't even funny, somehow she had managed to stay alive.

Yeah, she had been lucky.

Bobby was staring at her intently, and she let out a frustrated sigh. He was worse than a mother hen sometimes.

"So, you told Sam that his mother was a witch?" Bobby asked quietly. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets as he followed her back to the house. Both Dutchess and Emmie were on their heels, the retriever carrying a ball in her mouth.

C.J. only nodded. "Yeah, I did. But he figured it out on his own, Bobby. I just confirmed his suspicions." She neglected to tell him that she had also taught Sam how to control his telekinetic ability, or that the younger Winchester had managed to use his telepathy – on his own. "Besides, they both knew something was up the second I joined with them, boosting my power with theirs."

Bobby remained silent, pulling open the screened door, and ushering C.J. and the dogs inside. He had been John Winchester's friend for many years, keeping his secrets and maintaining a watchful eye over his two sons. He knew if John was alive, he would be furious that C.J. had revealed this truth to Sam and Dean.

But, he also knew that there was an even bigger secret to be kept, and he broached that subject now.

"And you told them nothing else?" Bobby asked, gripping C.J.'s arm and staring hard into her hazel eyes.

Eyes that were disturbingly familiar.

She sighed and shook her head.

"No, Bobby. And I wouldn't tell them even if I could. I made a promise to Mary, and its one I fully intend to keep." Gently, she pried her arm from Bobby's hand, offering him a small smile.

"Hopefully, they'll never have to know."

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"Here it is. Listen: 'The police are still investigating the return of four abducted children, found yesterday morning in a local church. The children, ranging in age from three to six, were discovered by the parish priest, Father Sean Bailey of Our Lady of Sorrows Chapel in Arlington, Kansas. The police have questioned the children about the abduction, but currently have no leads. If anyone has any information, please contact the Kansas State Police.'"

Sam lowered the newspaper, glancing over at Dean. His brother, still sporting various cuts and bruises on his face, remained silent, his eyes glued to the road.

Sam only sighed, shaking his head as he tossed the paper in the back seat. "Those poor kids. I bet they told the cops the truth, too."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, right. Imagine it, Sam. A bunch of preschoolers telling a story about how they were kidnapped by witches, trussed up like turkeys so they could be sacrificed in some dark, pagan ritual, only to be rescued after a mighty battle between good and evil. No one will buy it, least of all the cops."

Sam nodded. Dean was probably right. In a way, it was a good thing. Hopefully, the children would lose their memory of that night, and go on to lead happy, normal lives.

Unlike Dean and himself. Their lives had been weird before, but now they truly had entered the Twilight Zone. It was still so hard to grasp: their mother had been a white witch, their father had been fully aware of their mother's abilities, they both had supernatural powers. Sam was still unable to accept it all. And Dean. . .

"Dean, why aren't you freaking out?" Sam asked, his gaze on his brother's face.

"About what?" Dean asked, his voice cool.

"You know about what," Sam said. "Mom. Dad. Us. The whole witch thing. You're acting like nothing happened!"

Dean remained silent, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eye. Heaving a sigh, he pulled the Impala over, ramming it into Park, and killing the engine. He spun in his seat, glaring at his brother.

"You think I'm not freaked out about this Sam? Well, I am. And I'm pissed! I'm pissed off that Dad would keep something this important from us. But, there's nothing I can do about it. It is what it is, and I'm dealing with it the best that I can."

Dean fell silent, cursing himself as Sam's eyes widened with hurt. Dammit. His brother was probably just as upset as he was, maybe more. For months, Sam had believed that all his visions and telekinetic abilities were from the demon. His greatest fear was that he would become evil, that he would hurt someone, kill someone, maybe even Dean. The truth would have helped to alleviate some his little brother's fears.

This morning, after Bobby had left to retrieve the Bronco, C.J. had sat the both of them down, willing to answer many of their questions. She was still moving slowly, her face pale, but she also knew that both Winchesters were confused and angry. Taking her place on the couch, she told them she would answer whatever she could.

After exchanging a look with his brother, Sam had quietly told the story of the night their Mom had died, revealing that their mother had known the demon, that the demon had cut his wrist and dripped his evil blood into him. Dean had been stunned into silence as Sam quietly asked a question.

"My. . .abilities. They are from the demon, right? After all, I have his blood in me," Sam had whispered. His blue-green eyes had been bright with worry, and Dean wished he could go and blast the crap out of that yellow-eyed bastard again.

After a long moment, C.J. had shaken her head, assuring him that it wasn't true. His supernatural talents came from his mother. The demon had probably been aware of his witch blood, and had somehow used it to his advantage. And the blood the demon had dripped into him was probably just some kind of brand, a marker or locator, nothing more.

Both Sam and Dean had shared doubtful looks, although Dean was inclined to agree with C.J.. In his whole life, Sam had never once shown an inclination to go dark side. Other than the time he was possessed, that is. A couple of drops of blood, even if they were from the Yellow-Eyed Demon, would not change Sam into a monster.

Probably.

"And what about Dean?" Sam had asked. "He's never done anything even remotely supernatural."

C.J. only smiled. "Oh, Dean has the power, all right. It's just that neither of you have been properly trained to use it."

Dean had snorted. "Okay, Yoda. We'll just hop into the Millenium Falcon and cruise on over to Dagobah for some training in the Force." He ran his hands across his face, shaking his head.

"Go ahead and joke, Dean, but you have great potential. And, besides, I'm sure you've used your power; you just didn't realize it at the time," C.J. had replied. She leaned forward on the couch, her eyes intense as she gazed at the brothers.

"Tell me; whenever you two go on a hunt, Dean almost always enters a room first. He's the one who usually gets bad vibes about a situation. He's the one who comes up with a plan, and when the shit really hits the fan, he's the one who bails you both out."

Dean had barked a laugh, shaking his head, but Sam had nodded, his face thoughtful. It was true. Dean jokingly called it his Spidey sense, but nine times out of ten, it was Dean who kept the both of them safe, even when their Dad had been with them.

C.J. flashed Dean a smile. "And I bet you can fit in anywhere, adapt to almost any environment or situation with ease." I

Images of prison and a Hollywood movie set flitted through Sam's mind, and he gave C.J. an affirming smile. Dean had always been like a chameleon, blending into the background, taking on different identities like he was a born actor.

C.J. sagged back against the couch, a brief flash of pain crossing her face. "Face it, Dean. You're a protector, like me. Yes, the training your father gave you was important, but all those qualities – knowing when there's trouble before it happens, the ability to get out of a messy situation every time, reacting immediately when things are going wrong – are due to your witch blood."

Dean remained silent, a pessimistic frown on his face. But his memory was racing, recalling all the times his father told him to protect Sam, to keep him safe. Even as a child, Dean had been responsible for his toddler brother, their father confidently leaving Sam in Dean's care as he left them to go on a hunt.

Protecting Sam – hell, protecting anyone from evil – had always come naturally to Dean.

"And Dad?" Sam asked. "Why didn't he ever tell us?"

C.J.'s eyes clouded over for a moment. "Your father was afraid of two things. First of all, he was training you both to become hunters, to seek out evil and destroy it, and that included witches. Could you have killed another witch, knowing that your mom was of their kind? Granted, your mom was a white witch, but the fact of the matter is, she was a supernatural being. She wasn't entirely human, which, according to every hunter I've ever met, meant that she should be destroyed. Your Dad didn't tell you because he didn't want you to have any doubts about killing these creatures. His greatest fear was that you would hesitate, and that would get you hurt, or killed."

Dean sagged against the cushions, remembering the vampires that only fed on animals. He had been adamant about killing the entire nest, but Sam had convinced him that these vampires should be spared. Ironically, it had been another hunter who had proved to be the bigger threat, not the vampires. It had been the first time that Dean had truly been conflicted about his job – and the first time he let evil escape unharmed.

"Yeah, there have been a couple times when deciding what was evil became fuzzy. I guess Dad thought ignorance was bliss," Dean said.

C.J. nodded. "And the second reason he kept you both in the dark was that he was afraid you would want to use your powers, which could draw some unwanted attention. Even though you are descendants of a white witch, there are hunters – and others - who would kill you anyway."

"Just because we're. . ." Sam started.

"Not completely human," Dean finished. He cringed; C.J.'s words had hit a sore spot. He himself had been one of those hunters, at one time.

They had discontinued their conversation as Bobby roared into the yard, warning them that the police were on their way. Since Dean was wanted by the F.B.I., they had shot to their feet, hurriedly packing their clothes and Sam's laptop, and giving the dogs quick, affectionate pats on the head. C.J. had shoved some money at Dean, wrapped them both in hugs, and told them they would always be welcome – anytime. Quietly, Dean asked Bobby to keep an eye on C.J., and then the two brothers rushed out the door. Two minutes later, they were roaring over the bridge, leaving family legacies and the little town of Haven behind.

Now, parked on the side of the road, Dean ran a hand through his short hair. He knew C.J. had held some details back, but, the truth was, he was glad. He wasn't sure he could handle anymore secrets. And right now, he needed to reassure Sammy that they would be okay.

At least for the next 339 days, anyway.

"Listen to me, Sam. You and I, we've had this. . .witch thing. . .all our lives. Just because we know about it doesn't mean that things will change. You and I are still the same people we were last week, with a job to do and people to save." He paused, grateful when Sam gave him a slow nod, his face thoughtful.

Dean was right. Things really hadn't changed, at least not between them. They were still brothers, no matter what. And Sam did have a job to do. He did have someone to save: Dean from the Crossroads Demon. All this witch stuff could wait.

"You know, Dean, I hate it when you're right," Sam said reluctantly.

Dean laughed. "Dude, when are you going to learn? I am always right!"

Sam just rolled his eyes, sagging back against his seat as Dean fired up the Impala and pulled out on to the highway. Not everything was resolved between the brothers, but, for the first time in a long time, they seemed to be on the same page. That thought was confirmed as Dean offered Sam a small smile – one that finally reached his eyes. Sam returned the grin, folding his arms across his chest as he shut his eyes, the soft hum of the car's engine lulling him to sleep.

Dean drove easily, for once not feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His future remained uncertain, what with the whole Crossroads Demon deal, and there were still a whole slew of evil creatures to be hunted down and destroyed, but, all things considered, he felt. . .okay. Still, he couldn't quite believe that once again, he had succumbed to Sam's need for emotional venting.

A chick-flick moment.

Again.

Double gross.

Shaking his head in disgust, Dean floored the Impala, his brother sleeping peacefully by his side as they drove into the sunset.

The End

A/N – Okay, okay, the ending is as corny as they come, but I like corny. Thanks for

reading, and I always appreciate any reviews – good or bad.


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